


Changing the Tune

by CarvcrEdlund



Series: Fixing Sad SPN Episodes 2k17 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse of Angel Powers, Abuse of God powers, Alternate Canon, And then I will kill him, Angel puns, Bobby F-ing Singer, Canon-Compliant, Character Death, Chuck is a dick, Chuck is just a really tired dad, Chuck's a+ parenting, Dean is NOT OKAY with any plan involving killing Castiel, Dean is maaaaagical, Dean is very uncomfortable, Dean likes HotPockets, Do not read if you are at all squeamish, Every character is sassy, Except for Castiel, Fix-It, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Gen, God's A+ Parenting, Godstiel - Freeform, Hallucifer, He's a dick, I hated Meet the new boss, I hope, I will make you love a character, John's A+ Parenting, Lucifer Ships It, Lucifer is a Little Shit, Lucifer kisses a boy, Lucifer likes Hell's kitchen, Lucifer!whump, Lucifer-centric, M/M, Michael is a really good guy, Mine is way better tbh, Mother Hen Michael, Original characters are not central to plot, Outtakes chapter at the end, Rated T for language mostly, Sam's hallucinations, Satan puns, Season 7 rewrite, The Cage, VERY plot-heavy, Violence, You'll agree with me, and adult themes, and some violence, bible puns, but he's only dead for like ten minutes so it's okay!, but it's not very intense or graphic, but mostly language, i think, idk how to tag, scenes from the show included, so many puns, sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarvcrEdlund/pseuds/CarvcrEdlund
Summary: [Canon-compliant alternate storyline for the Godstiel Arc.]The Earth is a mess that is far too big for one Angel. And while Castiel is confident in his power, He believes that a few helpers would not be amiss in the times to come. God had the right idea, in the beginning. But this time around the New God will keep control of His Archangels.





	1. Meet the New Boss

**Author's Note:**

> Since that summary was basically me trying to sound cool and ominous, here's a more straightforward one.
> 
> Castiel hires the archangels (minus Raphael because he killed that one's ass for a reason, man) to be his lackeys during the Godstiel bit.
> 
> Shit goes down.

Before the beginning, God created the Archangels.

They were great and terrible creatures of beauty and immense strength, designed to guard the heavens and the earth. When together, they were an unstoppable force of good and God’s will. They were simultaneously Heaven’s most deadly weapons, and her brightest beacons of hope and love.

And thus, the New God set about reuniting them, this time to carry out _His_ will.

\- - -

Gabriel went with Death quietly. It’s probably the only thing he’s ever done (or ever will do) as such. He parted with his life and went with the entity as an old friend. No jokes, no final quips, no questions.

Death for an Archangel. . . It’s dark. Peaceful. There’s nothing to stress about. There’s nothing at all, really. Just broken thoughts and scattered bits of self that are far too dispersed to really do anything more than vaguely exist at the edges of reality.

Terribly lonely, too. It’s like being everywhere but nowhere all at once, if Gabriel had to describe it. Able to sense living beings in the vaguest way, but unable to interact with them in any way. Thoughts slipped away from him before they fully even formed. Time did not exist to him. He might have been dead for just an hour, or perhaps for several aeons, but either way he had no way of knowing. It felt unnatural, like he was created without the thought of death in mind. Dad probably _didn’t_ consider it, to be honest. Death was nothing more than an obscure idea in those days.

He felt it when Raphael joined him, and Gabriel was filled with both (almost selfish) relief, and unbearable sadness. Gabriel and Raphael, as the third and fourth children of God respectively, were close. Just as Michael and Lucifer had been. And though—like their older brothers—they differed in opinion on many things—also like their elders—they loved each other very much. In death, the two Archangels were mostly content, keeping each other company and enjoying the simple peace. It was still lonely and confusing, but slightly less so now they had each other.

Needless to say, when one gets shish-kebabed on an Archangel’s sword by Satan (or anyone, really), one doesn’t expect to wake up.

So when Gabriel, between one second and the next, went from being nothing but a floating consciousness to suddenly blinking against the brightness of heaven, he was understandably surprised. (And the understatement of the year goes to. . .)

And the first thing he saw once his eyes adjusted. . . “Castiel _?_ ” He squints, not quite believing what he’s seeing for a second. Sure, that _looks_ like his little brother, but there’s something off about him. He’s too bright, too intense. Almost like. . . “Wait, no way, _Dad_?”

He hears a snort off to his side, and whips around to see his two elder brothers; Michael and Lucifer, standing hardly a foot away from each other. And . . . Not glaring at each other. Gabe’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as Lucifer speaks in a mildly amused drawl. “Not quite, little brother. You were right the first time. Cassie’s just all hopped up on happy juice.”

At that, Gabriel whips back around to get a better look at his little brother, and he can see what Lucifer means. Souls, by the thousands, all shoved into Castiel’s vessel (packed tighter than sardines in a can, or Donald Trump in skinny jeans). “. . . Ah.” He blinks again, wondering what all this was about. Several questions barrage his mind at once. Why’s he back? More importantly; _how_ is he back? Exactly how much did he _miss_ while he was down for the count? How soon would it be appropriate for him to snap up some M &Ms or something? Where did all those souls come from? Did the Seahawks beat the Broncos? Why are Michael and Lucifer free? Why are they not _tearing at each other’s throats??_ Did Cass get a new trench-coat?

Instead of asking all that, he sums up his confusion into just one succinct question. “What in the name of all things holy or otherwise is going on?” Yeah, that’ll have to do.

“That’s what we’d like to know, too.” Michael admits solemnly, shifting on Adam’s feet. His vessel, paired with the nervous action makes him seem deceptively young. Lucifer was back in Nick, and Gabriel. . . The youngest Archangel looks down at himself, patting his. . . Actually normal body. The same vessel he was wearing when he died. Same clothes, same everything. The only thing different. . . Loki is gone. The companionable (and sometimes opinionated) consciousness he usually shared this body with is silent. Now it’s only him. That realisation makes him sad, actually. He failed his vessel (his friend).

“Okay. . .” All eyes were on Castiel, who was watching them impassively. “Cass, what’s all this about? And where’s Raph?”

A stormy expression crossed the youngest angel’s face before quickly dissipating. “He is not necessary to my plans.” He replies, after a moment.

“He speaks!” Lucifer immediately taunts, feigning astonishment. Gabriel cringes and silently bets that he gets the same treatment as Raphael did within an hour.

Michael throws his brash sibling a withering look before addressing Castiel again (always the diplomat). “Brother, don’t get us wrong—” His words halt momentarily at a sharp glare from Lucifer. (So maybe they aren’t as reconciled as Gabriel initially assessed. . .) “—don’t get _me_ wrong, I’m thankful that you thought to rescue us. . . But, I have to admit that I’m at a loss as to what this is all about. Care to explain?”

Gabriel, being the only one who knew what happened to Raphael, felt his heart sink as he started to draw his own conclusions.

Castiel remained very detached as he spoke, eyes landing on each of them in turn. “As you all have observed, I am no longer a simple seraph; I am now so much more than the soldier I was. I am powerful, and I intend to do something about this world. Heaven has remained unguided for too long, Hell has been left all but totally unchecked, and humanity has begun to lose their way, their faith. I can see now, that creation cannot be left Godless. Angels, demons, humans. . . You all need a father, a shepherd to guide you. And I have stepped up and assumed that role. Father forsook his creations, forsook _us_ a long time ago. I intend to do better.” He paused at this, seemingly gauging the ensuing reactions.

Lucifer and Michael wore identical expressions of disgust and denial, their doubts only belied by their continued silence. Gabriel opted to remain neutral, waiting to find out where his little brother was going with this. His growing discomfort was only visible in the tense muscles of his shoulders.

After a eyeing each of them in turn, Castiel continued his speech. “His guiding hand is gone, and now it is left to us to repair the damage his negligence has resulted in. Four can accomplish these goals more efficiently than one can. The three of you now owe me your lives and freedom, so if you wish to keep them, you will pledge yourselves wholly to me; as your new God.”

Silence. For almost a solid minute (which seemed to stretch on for a dad-damned _century_ ) none of them spoke a word. Castiel seemed unaffected by this; serene, even.

Lucifer (of _course_ it would be him) broke the tension with an angry step forward. “New God? How _dare_ you _._ You think, just because you gorged yourself on _monster_ souls, you can—” Lucifer’s lips kept moving, but no sound came out, and Castiel shook his head with an air of boredom. (Gabriel revised his bet to half an hour.)

“You too, will learn obedience. Unless you _want_ to return to your cage, Lucifer?” Castiel raises one brow, menacing in his calm. “I pulled you out, I can throw you back in.”

Needless to say, Lucifer backed down (though he was far from happy about it). He didn’t doubt that Castiel could follow through on that threat. Lucifer is stubborn, opinionated, and impatient, but he _does_ have a strong self-preservation instinct, on top of all that. (Gabriel, impressed with Castiel’s restraint, returns to his bet’s original timeframe.)

Gabriel and Michael had remained silent throughout the exchange, sharing a brief look that spoke volumes. This isn’t good. In fact, this is very, very bad. Knowing Castiel, the naïve Angel didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. There’s more than just souls in Purgatory. . .

“Michael.” The ‘new God’ spoke up, breaking Gabriel’s silent reverie. “Be an example for your brothers.” The powerful creature wearing their baby brother’s face watched Michael expectantly.

The eldest Angel stiffened slightly under the attention. He. . . He’s not made for this. Michael was made to follow the Father’s orders. He doesn't _make_ decisions, he carries them out. Lucifer’s eyes bore into his older brother, waiting for his decision.

 “I. . .” The sword of God hesitates, looking between his brothers. To give in, or resist and surely sign his own death warrant. . . If he bows to Castiel, he risks the wrath of God, when ( _if_ ) Father returns. . . If he refuses to serve him. . . He could end up dead, or worse, thrown back in the cage. And then he would be unable to protect his brothers, or save Castiel from himself.

Castiel remains silent, exuding patience. His sharp, icy blue eyes never waver from the eldest Angel. He obviously knows exactly what he’s doing. Michael doesn't make decisions. Michael is a follower, and asking him to lead his brothers with nothing but his own wisdom is something he simply hasn’t done.

It takes him a while (Gabriel begins to think that Cass broke his poor big bro), but Michael makes his decision. “Father forgive me. . .” The Archangel breathes out as he places his fist over his heart reluctantly, but meets Castiel’s eyes decisively. “I pledge myself.” He kneels on one knee, and though he knows Lucifer’s eyes are seeking his own, he refuses to meet them. “I will assist you to the best of my ability.”

Castiel merely gives a satisfied nod, and gestures for him to rise.

There’s a pause, in which Castiel turns his attention to Lucifer. But the devil isn’t looking at him, his eyes are only for Michael as he releases an exasperated growl. “You _disloyal_. . . I can’t _believe_ you. What gives you the right --?”

He was cut off again, this time by the near-God in question’s fist colliding with his temple. None of them saw him move.

Lucifer crumpled to the ground, like a doll whose strings were suddenly cut. He doesn’t move right away, too shocked to even pick himself back up.

Michael makes a start towards his unnaturally still brother, concern evident on his features. (Gabriel would sing at the proof that Michael still cared if he wasn’t frozen in dread by Lucifer’s predicament. . .) He’s frozen in place with a twitch of Castiel’s fingers (kind of like Syndrome’s zero-energy glove from Incredibles). “I tire of your incessant whining, Lucifer.” The words, eerily devoid of all emotion, send a chill down Gabriel’s spine.

At his name, Lucifer looses a pathetic little groan and fights to get his now-uncooperative arms underneath himself and push his upper body off the ground. He tastes blood. Judging by his sluggish movements, the hit he took must have affected more than just his vessel. Though, to his credit, he doesn't shake or allow any further signs of weakness show as he struggles to shake off his daze.

Castiel waits until Lucifer is looking at him again (eyes wide, shocked and vulnerable in a way Gabriel can’t recall ever witnessing before) to continue with an air of disdain. “Father was too kind, too forgiving, and too gentle with you. You need a firmer hand.” He returns his hands to his pockets, traces of anger in his eyes as he towers over the felled angel. “This is your one and only warning, Morningstar. I will not be so tolerant of your insubordination. Cross me, and you will be dealt with. Permanently. I suggest you tread carefully.” Castiel finally steps back, and releases Michael from his hold.

The older brother rushes to Lucifer's side, obviously worried. The latter refuses the silent offer of assistance, his damaged pride still intact enough to disallow any further show of weakness.

Lucifer had never felt so weak, so. . . Thoroughly humbled . . . and the realisation that Castiel could so effortlessly bring him to his knees was a slap to the face. The serpent recoils, averting his eyes from Castiel’s icy gaze and towards the ground.

Slowly, but steadily, Lucifer gets back to his feet and lifts his eyes to return that gaze with an equally cold, but relatively muted glare (relative to the intense and focused hatred of before, that is).

Gabriel is silent, mostly in a state of shock from everything. It's all too fast. For Dad’s sake, he only just came back from the dead!

But he’s the first one to break the tense quiet, unable to bear it any longer. “Luce. . .”

His older brother’s eyes snap to him, expression guarded and hostile at first, but the look quickly softens. He isn’t angry with Gabriel. How can he be when his miraculously _alive_ little brother is standing there, wearing the same thing he was when he died, looking so desperate? When that look is the same as the one Gabriel gave him seconds before Lucifer turned his brother’s own blade back on himself. The eyes that pleaded with him to ‘ _stop please brother, just stop’_ before they gave way to pain, shock, and betrayal.

Maybe this time, he should listen.

Lucifer’s eyes linger on Gabriel for a moment, searching for something (forgiveness? Hatred? Pity? Whatever it is, he seems to find it) before he turns to Castiel. The devil’s gaze hardens once more as he spits out his answer. “I will _never_ bow to you; you are _not_ God, and you never will be.”

Gabriel and Michael simultaneously cringe.

Castiel waits patiently, sensing more to come. Bowing isn’t important to him (especially if it isn’t done out of anything but fear), it’s obedience that he wants from Lucifer. (After all, who will fight him once he has tamed the father of rebellion?)

And more does come, though after a long hesitation. Closing his eyes, Lucifer lifts his white-knuckled fist from his side to rest over his heart, but as promised, does not kneel or bow. He does so with difficulty, and when he speaks it’s with a tinge of shame to his words. “However, I . . . also pledge myself to you.” The fist drops, followed promptly by his gaze.

The two other Archangels collectively release the (totally unnecessary, by the way) breath they didn’t know they were holding. (Maybe Gabriel _will_ end up losing that bet. A guy can hope. . .) Castiel gives a curt nod, satisfied. It’s enough, for now.

Finally, the calculating stare turns to Gabriel. The older angel feels like he’s being X-rayed, that instead of looking _at_ him, Castiel is looking _through_ him, able to read him like a children’s book. Gabriel suddenly understands how he managed to intimidate Mike and Luce.

Gabriel already knows what his answer will be, has known since before Michael made his decision, but he can’t resist one more question. “Any chance you’ll bring Raphael back?”

Castiel answers in the form of a solemn shake of his head.

Gabriel’s eyes sadden, and he sighs. “I’m disappointed in you, Cassie.”

To Michael and Lucifer’s silent astonishment, the Mutated once-angel’s eyes go downcast at the gentle reprimand. (‘But I saved you, brother.’ / ‘Saving one life doesn't justify taking another’s. . .’)

The third Archangel steps forward, putting a hand on Cass’ shoulder. “As long as your heart’s in the right place, you know I’m on your side, bro.” It’s not a vow of service, but Castiel understands that it’s all he’ll get from Gabriel, and somehow it feels stronger than the vows Lucifer and Michael gave him. Loyalty earned is always more reliable than loyalty extracted through fear and force. Gabriel already threw his lot in with Cass and the boys; he gave his life for their cause, and as long as Cass follows those same values, Gabriel would give his life again.

Castiel offers his older brother a warm smile. “Thank you.” For a fleeting second, the Castiel that followed at his brother’s heels as a fledgling, searching for approval, broke through the intense, withdrawn persona he’s taken up with all this power.

Michael and Lucifer shared a baffled look. Even after all their years apart, and all the fighting, they can still read each other like the back of their hands. At some point, Michael had made his way between Lucifer and Castiel. It isn’t obvious, and Michael most likely isn’t even conscious of it. Lucifer had noticed, but didn’t seem to mind.

Maybe locking them in a cage together wasn't completely ineffective after all. . .

This is way too tense. Gabriel has to fix that. “Riiight.” He stretches his arms above his head, turning his back on the three other beings, taking a closer look at his surroundings. (Some autistic dude’s heaven? Weird choice for this reunion.) “So, being dead kinda put me out of the loop. _Thanks_ for that, by the way.” He flashes his older brother a tight smile over his shoulder. Lucifer of course, doesn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. “I heard some stuff on the flip side from Raph, but not enough to have a great idea of what’s going on. So, is there a plan, boss man? Or are we here to stand around and look pretty? Maybe massage your back? I have it on good authority that my fingers are magic.” The trickster can’t help but tease a bit, turning back around with the aforementioned fingers laced behind his head.

“This should help.” Castiel reaches out to touch his older brother’s forehead with two fingers, the contact lasting for a second or two as he transfers the highlights of his memories from the last year or so to Gabriel.

Said Archangel steps back with a frown, sorting through the new information. “You worked with Crowley? Cass… You know he’s bad news.” Gabriel looks reproachfully at his younger brother, still sorting through the new memories. “But… Yeah, I guess Raph was being kind of a dick. He could have handled things better. But. . . So could you, Cass. There’s nothing he could have done to you after you took in those souls. Why—” blow him to bits? No, perhaps that phrase wasn’t appropriate for ‘polite conversation’. . . Gabriel aborted that sentence and quickly finished his line of thought. “He wasn’t a threat.”

Castiel released a long, put-upon sigh. “He would only have been trouble. Raphael would never see reason and assist me as you all have agreed to.”

Lucifer began to mumble mutinously (“define _agreed”_ ) under his breath, but Castiel silenced him with a nothing more than a sharp look before turning back to the other problem child.

“Let it go, Gabriel.”

“How can you know if you don’t ask? I can talk to him—” the former trickster starts to protest.

“I said _no_. Drop it, _now_.” Castiel’s eyes darkened a fraction, and for that short moment, Gabriel could no longer recognise his little brother. Something else was influencing him.

All three Archangels saw it, and they shared a concerned look with each other. Michael; concerned for his two brothers’ safety, Lucifer; concerned for his own, and Gabriel; concerned for Castiel. They didn't need Angel radio to know they were all thinking the same thing.

 _Leviathan_.

The dark _thing_ infecting Castiel’s body disappeared just as quickly as it came, but they had all still seen it.

With the argument now decisively over, silence reigned once more. Castiel appeared to be contemplating something, and no one dared to interrupt him.

That is, until Michael cleared his throat. “Brother, what happened to Raphael? What did he do to. . . Upset you?” Castiel’s eyes flashed, and Gabriel briefly took pity on Michael.

Castiel considered the older two angels, his lips pressing into a tight line. “Of course, neither of you are aware of the result of your . . . disappearance.” He eyed them a second longer, and then stepped toward Michael. “You want to see how your war ended? Here.”

Seeing the glint of malice in the younger’s eye, Gabriel honestly couldn’t blame Michael for the apprehensive look he was giving Castiel as the latter raised two fingers again. To his credit, he did not flinch away. The apprehension twisted into a grimace, and then regret as memories washed over Michael. The elder closed his eyes as he processed the entirety of Castiel’s experiences, from the start of the apocalypse to the moment he snapped Raphael out of existence.

He was silent for a long moment, during which Castiel stepped away and seemingly lost interest. The former Seraph's eyes instead sought out the lone human soul inhabiting this pocket of heaven as he continued to plan, now that he knew which pieces he had.

It was Lucifer’s turn to move towards his brother, both concerned and morbidly curious. A hand on Mike’s shoulder was all it took to pull the elder out of his trance. Immediately, Michael shrugged him off, and looked for Castiel, expression apologetic. “I had no idea, brother.” Castiel turned, lifting a brow questioningly. “I was wrong to cast you out. I was blind to Zachariah. I. . . I apologise.”

Castiel watched him for several seconds, giving off the appearance that he was debating internally. All at once, his demeanour got a shade softer. “. . . Forgiven. Do not repeat your mistakes, brother.”

Lucifer looked between his three brothers, confused and feeling kind of left out. “What did you show—” He thought better of the question and stopped himself just in time. “Ah, on second thought, I don’t want to know. What is it that humans say? Ignorance is bliss?” The attempt to lighten the mood wasn’t lost on Gabriel, but it apparently went way over Castiel’s head.

“Yes, but I believe that ‘curiosity killed the cat’ better fits this situation, Lucifer.” The correction carried a pointedly ominous undertone. After a second, Castiel turns back to the autistic man and continues. “Basically, Raphael took over heaven, and then I took over and blew him up. You’d be proud, Lucifer. Our last meeting inspired his death. Thanks to you, I know first-hand just how debilitatingly _painful_ molecular combustion is. Would _you_ like to find out?” His words dripped with sarcasm and distaste.

No, he would very much _not_ like to find out, thank you. Lucifer paled a few shades, and wisely kept his mouth shut. (The iron taste was still fresh on his tongue, not to mention his poor throbbing head. Have some sympathy for the devil.)

And that was that.

Castiel didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, and none of his brothers were inclined to speak up again. At a loss for what to do, and fairly certain that flying off would be a death sentence, the Archangels looked for ways to quietly distract themselves. Lucifer gave into his boredom first, wandering off to explore this guy’s heaven and probably lick his wounds once he was out of Michael’s view.

Michael took the time to sort through Castiel’s memories, separating the very vivid (but not his) sights, smells, and feelings from his own life. The memories effected him a lot, just as they had done to Castiel. And while they probably had a positive effect overall, Michael wasn’t comfortable with the almost instant personality change that had occurred. That wasn't his life. He could see now that his actions before had been flawed, and he wanted to change that, to learn from his mistakes, but he didn’t want to learn only through Castiel’s eyes. So he pushed the new knowledge to the back of his mind (much in the same way that angels ignore the memories of the vessel they inhabit), and resolved to learn from them, but in his own time.

Gabriel’s solution was a lot more human than Lucifer or Michael’s. He snapped up some candy, an iPod, earbuds, and Gabriel proceeded to chill out on the grass, enjoy his very-much-missed sweets and 70’s disco music, and tuned out the world around him.


	2. ArchangLOL

A little while later (maybe it was just a few minutes, maybe it was more like a few hours, Gabe wasn’t really keeping track of time) Michael shook Gabriel to get his attention. He took out the earbuds and cocked a brow at Michael, who jerked his head in Castiel’s direction. The latter seemed like he had something to say, and looked mildly irritated. Whoops.

“Finally. Which way did Lucifer go?” Gabriel and Michael shrugged in response. The former was pretty sure that if Castiel wanted to, he could simply make the other Archangel reappear with them, but maybe he didn’t want to waste the energy or something. After all, the more soul power he consumed, the less powerful he got, and the closer he got to being consumed. If he even knew about that bit.

“He can’t have left. . .” Castiel mused, looking towards the more tree-dense area.

Rather suddenly, Gabriel snorted. Whether it was just his ill-timed and childish sense of humour, or partly due to stress, he still didn’t know. “You lost Satan.” He snorted again. “Where the devil, is the devil?” And that was it. Gabriel broke down into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, punctuated sporadically by more terrible Satan puns.

They pretty much all went over Michael and Castiel’s heads though, and when he finally calmed down enough to get a good look a them, the nearly identical head-tilts of befuzzlement sent him straight into a new bout of laughter.

(Between you and me, I’m betting the stress finally got to him.)

The rather loud and uncontrolled giggles caught Lucifer’s attention from wherever he was sulking, and he made his way over, watching Gabriel in bemusement. “What’s so funny?”

Michael shrugged, Castiel gave a bewildered shake of his head.

Hearing his brother’s voice, Gabriel looked around for him, and upon spotting him, jumped to his feet. “Speak of the devil,” he giggled again, “there you are! Hey, hey, heyheyhey, bro. Did you come back because you heard me?”

Lucifer, who was as lost as the other two at this point just drew his brows together. "I . . . Suppose so? Are you okay, Gabe?"

Gabriel let loose another burst of giggles before continuing. “So you could say I just. . . _Summoned Satan?_ ” He continued laughing, draping himself over his older brother’s shoulder as comprehension dawned on him.

Lucifer rolled his eyes with a half-weary, half-amused sigh as he held his little brother up. “Hilarious. You’re a comedy genius. Now pull yourself together, Robin Williams.”

“One more, one more. Then I'm done. Pinkie promise.” Gabriel insisted, holding up the aforementioned pinkie.

Lucifer hesitated, then shook his head. “I've got one.” He hooked pinkies with the other Archangel. “Deal.”

Gabriel snickered, then pouted up at him. “I was gonna do that! Pun-thief!”

Luce ruffled his hair fondly. “Too slow.” He bit his tongue before he reminded Gabriel who taught him all his tricks. That wasn’t a memory he wanted to dredge back up.

Michael was smiling faintly, either because he was starting to catch the humour, or because he was just pleased to see his brothers in good spirits again.

"Whatever. Deal’s a deal, I still get one more. So, so what happens when your hair falls out?” He asked Luce, holding off on the laughter for now.

Lucifer frowned. “I. . . Get a new vessel?” Gabriel shook his head in the negative. “No clue. What?”

Gabriel grinned, snickering before answering. “There’ll be _hell toupeé.”_

Lucifer grimaced in response.

Gabriel succumbed to immature giggles again, that is, until Castiel cleared his throat. That sobered Gabriel up fast enough. He let go of Lucifer in order to face the former Seraph. “Sorry, I'm not sure what came over me. . . What did you come up with?”

Castiel seemed content to ignore the bout of mild hysterics. He simply inclined his head to acknowledge the apology. “I have already contacted Crowley and. . . Persuaded him (Translation: scared him shitless) to urge hell to keep to itself. He reports to me now. Heaven is under control for the moment. I've asserted my authority clearly enough here.” The juiced-up Angel recounted, eyeing his brothers. “All that’s left is Humanity. Belief is difficult to earn from them, but not impossible. I intend to walk amongst them and perform miracles, smite the unworthy, and cleanse the planet. Gabriel. You were always good at rooting out the. . . ‘Douchebags’, as you called them. I want you to continue that, but make it known that they died because they are the scum of the earth.” Gabriel was frowning now, but he held onto his protests for a more appropriate time.

“Michael. Stay here, and see that the remaining angels have direction. Much of heaven is damaged, and many souls have run off to who knows where. Report to me when you’ve sorted them out.” Straightforward, unassuming orders. Michael saw no issue with them, and nodded once to express that he understood.

“Lucifer, with me.” Castiel didn’t elaborate, and the second oldest grimaced with dread. “Keep up.” And with a flutter of feathers, he disappeared from heaven. Lucifer tossed his brothers an unreadable look before he too, flew off.

Michael and Gabriel couldn’t say they envied whatever his job was to be.

Silence reigned for a few seconds, before Gabriel turned on his angel radio. _‘ ‘Mikey?’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Yes, Gabriel?’ ’_ The elder looked at him with a weary raise of his brow.

The younger was scowling at the inappropriately clear and sunny sky. _‘ ‘I should get going. Do something for me, okay? Get Ongkanon to set up a private frequency for us. He’ll know how to hide it from little bro. And make sure Luce gets connected to it, too. Brother will need your help with that part. Got it?’ ’_

Michael nodded once, and Gabriel flew down to earth, satisfied. The former lingered a bit longer, and then released a tired sigh, getting to work. “Here goes nothing. . .”

\- - -

Lucifer fought to hide his scowl as he flew after the more powerful (for now) being. They landed just outside some horribly run-down old building.

Scratch that; _heavily-warded_ horribly run-down old building. He could feel the sigils and runes pushing him away even from afar. The building itself was difficult to look at for long periods of time. 'Singer Salvage Yard' read the sign outside. “Not to rain on your parade or anything. . . But we’ll never be able to get in there, Cassie. Why. . .” He answered his own question when he noticed that one of the many cars parked outside was a badly busted-up black ’67 Chevy Impala. “The Winchesters?”

Castiel nodded, but otherwise ignored him. The younger raised his arm, and the building began to shake faintly and the sigils glowed through the walls. One by one, the wards keeping them out began to burn away.

Lucifer had to admit, he was impressed. And maybe a little intimidated. Maybe. Just a little.

The shaking eventually stopped, and Castiel flew inside with Lucifer right behind him. Sam, Dean, and some gruff old man that Lucifer only vaguely recognised (didn’t I blow him up?) were standing together, tensed and with weapons at the ready.

Dean was the first to react. “Lucifer.” He looked like he was one wrong word away from shooting the devil full of lead, damn the consequences.

Sam shot his brother a look, his grip tightening on the Colt. Weirdly, Dean’s reaction seemed to make him relax.

The older Winchester didn’t notice, cocking his rifle.

The Archangel in question just stuffed his hands in Nick’s pockets, waiting for Castiel to get on with the reason they’re here.

He didn't have to wait long. "Drop your weapons, please." The former seraph asked with feigned politeness. When they didn’t immediately comply, he flicked his fingers and the three yelped, dropping their respective guns as if burned. “Take a seat.” He didn’t wait for compliance this time, force-pushing the three onto the worn couch behind them. Castiel went to seat himself on the recliner.

With every seat taken (besides a spot next to Sam, no thank you), Lucifer just remained standing where he was. He still wasn’t really clear on why he was even here.

Belatedly, he realised Castiel was staring at him. “What?”

"I said take a seat, _brother_.” Lucifer’s eyes flicked to the space beside Sam. “Not there.” He looked back at his little brother, confused.

Collecting every ounce of patience he could muster, the serpent managed to keep the venom out of his tone. “Where, then?”

The smirk Castiel gave him sent chills down his spine. “Next to myself, of course.”

The ground. Castiel wanted him to sit on the ground at his fucking feet, like some kind of glorified pet. Suddenly, Lucifer understood what his role was in Castiel’s plans, and it took all the self-control he had not to attack the other Angel right there.

The devil ground his teeth, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. Castiel seemed content to wait it out, watching his brother with the most infuriating expression of amusement. Lucifer’s temple throbbed, the darkening bruise on his vessel’s face serving as a clear reminder of what would happen if he didn’t obey. The devil took a slow breath and temporarily swallowed his pride, answering blandly. “Of course.”

He tried not to think about it too much as he walked around to Castiel’s right and dropped to the ground, folding his legs Indian-style underneath him. Instead, he entertained himself with all the ways he was going to tear Castiel apart once he inevitably lost the upper hand.

It would be easier if he couldn't feel three astonished sets of eyes on him.

Satisfied, Castiel turned back to his human audience. Dean spoke up again before Castiel could say anything. “I see you replaced your friends pretty quick, Cas. Really? _Lucifer?_ ”

“He’s not my friend.” Castiel was quick to correct, and the devil huffed in agreement.

It was Sam’s turn to voice his dissidence. “Why the hell are you back? I thought you didn’t care about us ‘inconsequential ants’.”

Lucifer leaned forward with interest. Now, this was an interesting development. “Trouble in paradise, Cassie?”

That made the ‘New God’ curl his lip in distaste. It seemed he didn't like having his own words thrown back at him. And he didn’t like Lucifer sassing him, either. “I had hoped that you would see things my way, Dean, Sam, Bobby. But I know now that this is not to be the case. Out of respect for our friendship, I will leave you be, but I have seen your resourcefulness first hand, and do not want you getting in my way. I am going to fix this world, with or without your help. You may join me any time you like. Lucifer will stay with you as both your guardian and my own eyes and ears.” The Archangel’s attention snapped back to his brother at this. Castiel shot him a quelling look. “Lucifer, if I find out that you so much as pulled a hair from their heads, you won’t live to regret it. And you,” he looked up at the hunters, “I believe I have already made myself clear. Do you understand?”

His brother dropped his gaze with a put-upon sigh. “. . . Understood.”

The humans looked far from pleased, but each gave some form of assent.

Castiel watched them for another second. “. . . Good. Now I will take my leave.” He gave Lucifer a demeaning pat on the head. “Stay.”

Lucifer shook with rage, but didn’t retaliate. Castiel disappeared in another flutter of wings.

No one said anything for a long while, the humans staring at their ‘guest’, who stood as soon as Castiel was gone, but didn’t (or couldn't) meet their eyes.

Dean broke the silence, finally. “. . . Son of a _bitch_.”

Lucifer gave a derisive snort. “Couldn’t have said it better.”

The taller brother gave a short grunt of agreement.

Awkward silence. Lucifer finally looked at them, unable to stand the tense quiet for too long. “Well. This is going to be fun.” He looked over his human charges. Sam’s _intense_ glare of hatred prompted him to give the brunette an infuriating smirk. “Hey Sam, long time no spooning.”

Sam frowned at him even more deeply (if that was even possible), and finally answered in a tone dripping with barely-contained hatred. “Screw you, asshole.”

That just earned the hunter a wider grin. “I like the way this is going. When and where?”

Stepping forward, fist clenched as if to hit him, Sam growled back at him. “This is all just some big game to you, isn’t it?”

The accusation caused the elder being to think for a second. “Mm. . . Yeah, kinda.” He didn’t expect a warm welcome, obviously, but Sam’s raw _anger_ seemed like a bit of an overreaction, to be completely honest. If anything, Lucifer feels that he’s the one who should be angry about the human stuffing him back in the cage (along with _Michael_ , no less). Sam should be smug about his victory, in Lucifer’s opinion. But he just seems. . . Livid. About _what,_ Lucifer can't be sure. Maybe beating Dean up was a step too far?

In the face of Sam’s persisting fury, Lucifer resolves to figure it out later.

“So was the torture just a game too? Were you just ‘having fun’?” Asked Sam, barely-controlled rage adding a slight tremor to his voice.

Torture? What? Lucifer was _very_ confused, to be sure. But. . . The anger suddenly made sense. Lucifer started to form a theory on Sam’s current attitude. “. . . When did I torture you, again?” Weirdly enough, he wasn’t actually just ‘playing innocent’, though in hindsight it probably sounded that way.

“The cage, you sick bastard!” Sam snapped back, anger seeming to double at the other’s dismissive reaction. “Who do you think you’re trying to fool?!”

Lucifer blinked at the outburst, then simply shook his head and raised his hands in mock-surrender. “I never tortured you. Look, you won. Against all the odds, you beat me, one-on-one, matrix style. I respect that, so I took our wager seriously, and I let you be.” He lowered his hands, doing his best to sound calm and reasonable. It was hard to admit he’d lost, but he _had._ “At any rate, I was kind of ‘busy’ with Michael the whole time. I wouldn’t have noticed you were gone if Death himself hadn’t popped by to collect you. You don’t remember any of that?”

Sam wrinkled his nose in disbelief, but made an effort to think back anyways.

Dean looked like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He half wanted to back his brother up and call bullshit on Lucifer, but he can also sort of tell that in this instance, the devil isn’t lying to them.

As if he can't stand the awkward silence either, Lucifer adds; “C’mon, Sam. You know I'm not that petty.”

The room was conversation-less for another good while. Lucifer didn’t try to break the quiet again, turning his attention elsewhere in the room.

Eventually Bobby spoke up, addressing Lucifer and interrupting the taciturn room. “What happened to your face?”

The devil grimaced, hand unconsciously going up to touch his darkening bruise. “Let’s just say that the latest Dad-wannabe doesn’t appreciate defiance, and leave it at that.”

The older of the brothers cocked a brow. “Since when do Angels bruise?”

After a short hesitation, Lucifer shook his head and answered Dean softly. “We don’t.”

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek. “Ouch.”

The devil gave a nod, answering dryly. “My sentiments exactly.”

Sam pulled them back to the original argument. “I remember the fighting, early on. . . But I remember the torture, too.”

The look Lucifer fixed Sam with was a poor imitation of pity. “I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t torture you, Sam. If you want my best guess? You imagined it. You _were_ in there a long time, and the cage does things to people. It’s built as a punishment for _me_ , and I’m a nigh all-powerful Archangel. It was even starting to get to Michael. Lord only knows what it could do to a little human like you.”

Sam scowled, not ready to believe him just yet. “Yet, you seem just fine.”

The devil fixed him with a look of grim amusement. “Do I, Sam?” The devil went mad a long time ago. He’s merely learned to conceal it better.

Sam seemed to realise the irony of his statement, and the scowl just deepened. He didn’t argue the point any further, however.

Dean was busy marvelling at the fact that Sam hadn’t run out of new Bitchfaces.

Bobby cleared his throat. “Right. So how’re we gonna fix this mess? Any ideas, blondie?”

Lucifer snorts, walking over to get a better look at the pictures on the mantle. “We can’t do anything. Plotting against Castiel when he’s like this is suicide. All we can do is wait.”

“So you’re just going to give up? Throw in the towel?” Dean obviously wasn’t happy with that answer, moving to retrieve the Colt Sam had dropped. “Bullshit. You’re Goddamn Lucifer. You didn’t give up when God tossed you in Hell and threw away the key, so why is now any different?”

The angel in question grimaced slightly at the reminder. “Yeah, and that worked out _so_ well for me. Look, this is different. Castiel isn’t my dad. He’s. . .” Lucifer gestured his hands uselessly as he searched for the right word. “. . . scary. I knew Dad was too _sentimental_ to finish the job when it came to me. But Castiel . . . He might smite me for so much as looking at him the wrong way. And I rather like my essence where it is, thank you.”

It cannot be said that Dean is, by any sense of the word, a coward. “So that’s it, huh? You get slapped around a little, and you’re suddenly his bitch?” The hunter growls, stepping towards the source of his frustration.

For his part, the devil resisted the urge to break some of the whelp’s bones. “What would you have me do, Dean?! My hands are tied! Anything I do would be stupid, reckless, and make absolutely _no_ difference! We could throw the whole of Heaven at him, and only make him sneeze! So tell me Boy Wonder, if you’re so sure, _what_ would you have me do?”

Before Dean could argue with him again, Lucifer continued venomously. “Would you have me throw myself at an enemy far stronger than myself, and die pointlessly for your cause? Perhaps your bullshit worked on Gabriel, but I’m not so gullible.”

That seemed to effectively shut Dean up.

It was Sam who eventually answered, his voice quiet and hopeful. “There has to be something we can do. There’s _always_ something.”

With a frustrated sigh, Lucifer seemed to deflate a little. He turned away again before answering. “Not in this case, Sam. There aren’t any magic rings, all-powerful do-dads, and no amount of wishing is gonna get us out of this. Short of getting Dad to show his face again, all we can do is wait.”

A thoughtful look overtook Sam's face. “Hey, why not that? Getting God to come back. Maybe you can find him?”

The devil snorted and shook his head. “What do you think I was doing before the big showdown, Sam? Twiddling my thumbs in Detroit? Those rituals and booty calls didn’t take up all my time. I was looking for the big guy, but he’s long gone. Caught the first train out of crazy town and didn't look back. Dad could be universe-hopping, for all I know. But for whatever reason, He doesn't want to be found, so He won't be. End of story.”

“What if instead of lookin’ for Him, we gave Him a reason to come back?” Bobby interjects, tone contemplative.

“And how do you suppose we do that, old man?” Came the disenfranchised reply. Lucifer can't be bothered to remember the human’s name. “Who’s to say He’ll even be looking when you do?”

The hunter glares, but doesn't correct the devil. Priorities. “Oh, he’ll notice. You were his favourite, right? So much so that he locked ya away rather than strike you down?”

Not sure where he's going with this, but also curious to find out, Lucifer nods slowly. “You could say that. . .” His palm unconsciously ghosts over a place on his shoulder; where underneath his shirt, a faded mark resided on Nick’s skin like a long-healed scar.

This seemed to just confirm something Bobby already suspected. “Then he must still care about yeh. Think he’d intervene if you were in mortal danger?”

At the first part, Lucifer’s nose wrinkled. At the second, he full-on scowled. “No.” He bit out, then continued with his clipped explanation. “It is said; ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test’. He won't come back if I put myself in danger. Do not ask me for such a thing again.”

“Did you just. . .” Dean hesitated, eyebrows raised. “. . . quote Jesus?”

Lucifer scoffed, answering with an air of distaste. “They were not The _Son’s_ words first, Winchester. But if you wish to see it that way, fine. Yes, I quoted the same scripture that Father’s _prize child_ once used against me.”

This did nothing to deter Dean’s amusement at the coincidence. “Ooh, someone’s touchy. How did you get out to talk to him, anyways? Weren’t you locked up already?”

The devil silently counted to ten. This human is _asking_ to be vaporised. “Security was more lax before the Son locked hell up and opened the pearly gates to the rabble. I couldn’t get _out_ , per say. But I could make deals, and influence the weak of faith. I appeared to him in that Dad-forsaken desert as more of an . . . astral projection, I suppose.” Jesus Christ. Now _he_ was a worthy foe. “The prick still wouldn’t give me the time of day.” His worthiness doesn't make Lucifer hate him any less. “But that’s all beside the point. God’s not coming back until he wants to, and there’s nothing we can do about that.”

Bobby huffs. "We'll talk about your enormous daddy issues later, blondie. So if we can’t get him back, are you _sure_ there’s nothing we can do about Castiel?”

The elder being glared. “No. We can do nothing but wait it out.”

“Balls.” Cursed Bobby, under his breath.

“On the bright side, we shouldn’t have to wait too long.” The blonde commented, daring to let a hopeful note into his voice.

Sam, being more attuned to Lucifer’s way of thinking, raised an eyebrow. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Lucifer smiled morbidly at a group picture of the Winchesters and Bobby, back when the boys were still children. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Bad news” Sam and Dean answered simultaneously.

Lucifer turned to face them, hands in his jacket pockets. “Castiel got a little more than he bargained for when he swallowed all of purgatory. You see, it’s not just monsters in there. Dad locked up _old_ beings in it. Beings older than humanity, older than Angels, even. The Leviathan were trapped there. He created them first, see? But they were mindless, hungry things. They ate anything and everything he created, so they had to go. Only a few of us actually know they exist.” He paused, pleased to see the fearful looks the brothers gave each other. “And even _I_ don’t know how to go about killing one. As far as I'm aware, they have no weaknesses.”

Bobby seemed the least affected. “And the good news?” He prompted gruffly.

The Devil sighed. “Right now, Castiel can contain them with the assistance of all those souls he took. But he won't be able to hold them back forever. Sooner or later, he’ll figure it out, and maybe then he’ll wise up and put everything he took back where it belongs. If you want to do something productive, we can prepare a portal to purgatory, and wait.” He smiled faintly to himself. “Ha, that’s fun to say.”

Silence reigned for a while, before Bobby gave an irritated grunt. "Fantastic. How do we make one?”

After chewing his cheek for a second, Lucifer voiced his thoughts out loud. “Well, the most reliable way involves using the blood of a virgin and a purgatory escapee during a lunar eclipse. . . But there’s another less time-sensitive way, if memory serves. It doesn’t involve killing virgins, though. Pity.” He was quiet for another few seconds. “Yeah. You’ll need a fallen angel’s feather burned to ash in holy oil, dirt from The Garden with a capital ‘G’, and hellfire. That should do it.” He snapped up a notepad and red pen, drew something and wrote a few lines of Latin, then handed it to Sam. “Arranged like this, on that symbol drawn in lamb’s blood. The first two lines open the portal, the third line closes it.”

Sam nodded, squinting as he read it over a few times. “Dude, your handwriting sucks. How do you say this?” He pointed at one of the first few words and turned it back in Lucifer’s direction.

Dean interrupted, wanting to get a look. He snorts, agreeing with Sam. “Serious case of doctor’s hand.”

Lucifer huffed indignantly, handing Sam the pen. "You write it then. Ready?” Sam nods, crossing out what Lucifer wrote (if it can even be called writing). “ _Magnanime portam Purgatorii a malis mundi hujus, quo ultra rogamus audi nos. Accipe sacrificium Deo de caelo et inferno, et dimitte nobis limina tuta traiectus.”_  He paused, waiting for Sam to finish. After a second, Sam looked up, and he continued. “The last line to close it goes; _portam purgatorii magnanime, accipe adhuc memores et signavit.”_

Sam finished copying it down and nodded, handing it to Lucifer to make sure he had it right. The latter nodded, and gave it back. “I suggest you memorise it, and then burn that. We don’t want you-know-who catching on and getting the wrong idea.”

Bobby grunted in agreement, giving Lucifer a curious look. “Why’re you being so helpful? Y’know, when you’re not tryin’ to kill us all, you’re downright pleasant.”

Lucifer pulled a face. “Desperate times. Don't be getting any idiotic ideas. We aren't friends. I still hate you lot. But for the moment, we’re stuck in the same shitty situation, and I don’t like Castiel’s ‘upgrade’ any more than you do. So, until I can go back to fighting my brother in peace, we might as well call a temporary truce. Deal?” He formally extended his hand.

Sam and Dean shared a look before Dean replied. “You know, we kinda have all we need now. What do you think Cass would do if I told him you threatened to drop me in Antarctica?”

Lucifer’s hand dropped back to his side, a growl building up in his throat.

The younger brother joined in with an identical evil grin. “Nothing good, Dean. What do you think he’d do if I told him Lucifer was trying to get us to say yes again?”

Bobby caught on, watching his boys with some amusement. Dean added. “I think he’d take our word for it, if I said you punched me. Sam?” The elder brother offered the younger his chin.

Lucifer paled significantly, knowing they were right. “No, no—wait, just hold on.” He grimaced, hating them even more, and hating that he can’t do anything about it. “Fine, what do you want?”

Sam and Dean smiled at each other, and folded their arms. “A better deal,” Sam began, “on our terms.”

Lucifer glared at the moose of a man, biting out a response. “And just what terms are those?”

Dean hummed to himself, thinking. It was Bobby who spoke first. “Haven’t decided. Ya idjits should get some professional help. Crowley’ll know how to keep him from findin’ loopholes.”

The Winchesters hesitated, knowing they aren’t exactly Crowley’s favourite people right now (and not trusting him as far as they could throw him, for that matter), but they had to agree. Contract-writing isn't exactly their forté.

Lucifer stewed while they summoned his _least_ -favourite demon, considering what his chances are if he just kills them all and makes a run for it.

He estimated somewhere between ‘not good’ and ‘less than none’.

Cocky bastards.

Damn Castiel.


	3. Terms and Conditions May Apply

Crowley was shifty about the whole thing at first, assuming that, naturally, the Winchesters wanted to conspire against Castiel. He almost bailed on them when he saw Lucifer. “What in the name of all things unholy is _he_ doing here, you morons?! He hates me!” The demon was right, not that it did anything to make the Archangel hate him less. But when he was informed of the situation, the red-eyed demon’s unease and fear morphed into amusement and excitement. He readily agreed to help the hunters compose Lucifer’s contract.

The devil didn’t stick around to watch Crowley gleefully write up possibly the worst contract Lucifer would ever sign. He stalked outside, electing to lounge (read: sulk) in the sun while he waited. They’ll probably be a while. There were plenty of cars outside, so he picked one with an open top and made himself comfortable.

About twenty minutes in, Michael’s voice interrupted his thoughts (read: pouting), and damn near made him jump out of his skin. ‘ ‘ _Brothers?’ ’_ Lucifer looked around wildly, understandably confused. The devil hadn’t heard anyone over Angel radio since. . . Well, since before he was cast out, really. Like everything else that connected him to heaven, he had been cut off.

He must have let some of his confusion slip through, because next he heard Gabriel’s laughter in his head. _‘ ‘Luce, chill. It’s just us. You remember how to do this, right?’ ’_

There was a pause as he understood, recovered from the surprise, and focused his thoughts. ‘ ‘ _Of course I do. Don't be an idiot, Gabe. How did you. . .’ ’_ He let the question hang there, not sure how to phrase it.

Gabriel seemed to understand anyways. ‘ ‘ _It was tricky, but Mike and Ongkanon pulled through. I figure that if little bro’s gonna keep us separated, we should have some way to keep in touch so we can figure out how to clean up this mess. Are you still with Castiel, Lu?”_

Lucifer listened, relaxing back into the car’s passenger seat once more. _‘ ‘Good idea. And no, Castiel left me to babysit the Winchesters and their uncle, or something. He wants me to keep them from interfering with his ‘divine plan’. I'm at the Singer Salvage Yard. Sioux Falls, South Dakota.’ ’_

He could hear the amusement in Gabriel’s response. _‘ ‘How are they taking it?’ ’_

Lucifer allowed himself a smile. ‘ ‘ _Better than I’d have guessed. I admire their tenacity and optimism, misplaced though it is. They aren’t content to do nothing about Castiel, that much is for sure. However, they’re a little too pleased with my predicament. Currently, they are drawing up terms for a deal they intend to force me to sign.’ ’_

Michael chimed in, evidently curious. _‘ ‘Forcing you? How?’ ’_

Lucifer couldn’t hide his displeasure. ‘ ‘ _Castiel left me with orders not to harm them in any way. If I don't sign it, the bastards intend to injure themselves and blame it on me. And to be honest, I’d rather not risk it and find out whether Castiel will actually take their word over mine.’ ’_

He could feel the cringe of sympathy from Michael. _‘ ‘Ouch. Today really isn’t your day, is it?’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Tell me about it.’ ’_ Lucifer agrees sarcastically, wondering to himself why Gabriel is remaining so uncharacteristically silent.

With the end of their conversation the channel is quiet for a moment, and then he hears Gabriel whistle lowly from the driver’s seat, having apparently flown over to visit him. Lucifer manages not to jump, merely cracking one eye open to glare at his uninvited guest. “That sucks, bro. Gotta admit, it’s pretty smart of them to take advantage of this rare opportunity though, yeah?”

Shutting his eyes again, Lucifer sighed in annoyance. “If I weren’t the unfortunate target of it, I’d be downright proud of Sam’s inner evil genius.”

“Tch, you _would_ be.” Gabriel snorts, looking over at the house. “I saved their lives once. From you, actually. Maybe I can talk them out of it, or at least get you an easier deal?”

Lucifer opened his eyes again to look at his little brother in disbelief. “You’d do that? Why?”

Gabriel shrugs. “’Cause you’re my bro? ‘Cause it’s not fair? ‘Cause I like being nice? ‘Cause it’s unlikely that I’ll ever need a favour from them again? There’s no one reason in particular.”

Lucifer considered the offer, staring at Gabriel, who was now fiddling with the old Dodge’s derelict radio. “. . . Touché. Yeah, I mean, what can it hurt?”

His answer was met with a grin full of mischief. “Exactly; it can't~ But if you want my help, you need to use the magic word, bro.”

Ah, yes. It can't be just as simple as asking for help, can it? Lucifer sighs. “Ugh, fine. Please?”

“There ya go, got it in one.” Gabriel’s grin widens, hopping out of the car. “C’mon, this-a-way!” The more energetic of the two practically bounced over to the front door, Lucifer following behind at a more sedated pace.

Gabe flung the unlocked door open. “Knock knock, guess who?!”

Four heads rose from their work, watching incredulously as the two Archangels entered. “Gabriel? But you’re—”

“Dead?” Gabriel cut him off, determined to hold the spotlight. “Astute observation, Samsquatch. Yep, I _was_. But that was _so_ two hours ago. Cassie needed me for his ‘new and improved’ God-squad. Anywho, a little birdie told me you yahoos are bullying my bro—”

Before he could continue, Lucifer covered his mouth. “I change my mind, I don't want your help. This was a bad—Ew! Gross, Gabe!” He scowls, drawing his hand back quickly. Gabriel _licked_ him.

The younger Archangel shot him his best shit-eating grin before carrying on. “I just want to make sure you don’t _completely_ screw him over. Like, sticking him back in the cage is a no-no, _comprende_? I like having him back.”

Lucifer was about to try to shut his brother up again, but then Gabriel said _that_ , and slung an arm around his shoulders. . . The older Archangel just huffed, crossing his arms and letting his brother go on. He did his best to ignore the knowing smile on Bobby’s face. Old bastard.

Sam and Dean watched their ‘guests’ in a state of disbelief. Sam snapped out of it first. “Wait, what? He’s the one who killed you, Gabriel! You told us how to lock him up with the rings! And now you’re on his side?”

Gabe shook his head. “To be fair, I _did_ try to kill him first. According to your justice system, it’s okay to kill people in self-defence. And as long as we’re playing the blame game, you guys totally started it. But I wasn't gonna point fingers at anyone. Funny how being dead really puts things in perspective, huh? Life’s too precious to waste it being angry. I thought you boys, of all people, would understand.” He pauses, giving his audience time to process his rapid-fire speech. “And I told you guys, I'm not on anybody’s side. I’m with whatever plan keeps my family in one piece, ‘kay?” Gabriel let go of Lucifer and walked towards the group. “So make him promise not to raze the Earth to the ground, make him promise not to hurt humans, I don't care. Go ahead. But don’t make him promise to go back to that damned pit. He’s been there long enough to prove that it doesn’t solve a _damn_ thing, okay?”

Sam and Dean looked like they wanted to argue before, but after Gabriel’s outburst their disbelief morphed into understanding.

Lucifer, for his part, was stunned, staring at Gabriel like he didn’t quite recognise him. When did his baby brother grow up and become this . . . wise, bright, and confidant Angel before him? Gabriel wasn’t looking at him. “You boys owe me that much. You were right before, Dean. I’m done letting my family destroy itself while I do nothing. So this is me, doing something. Kapiche?”

"Gabe. . ." Lucifer finally found his voice.

Gabriel didn’t turn, but his voice was gentler when he responded. “In a minute, Luci.” He addressed the Winchesters again. “Well?”

The boys looked at each other. Bobby remained leaning against the wall adjacent to the hallway, staying out of the drama. This one isn’t his call. Crowley likewise kept quietly to himself. He’s learned to pick his battles, and this one is decidedly not his.

Dean finally gave a sigh. "Yeah, okay. Only because we owe you big-time, Gabriel. . . But this definitely makes us even.”

Gabriel nods his agreement. “Totally. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’m like 72% sure that Luci is dying to tell me something important that shows a lot of character development and stuff. Toodles.” He waves, and promptly drags Lucifer out of the building. The humans plus one barely had time to blink before the Angels were out the door.

For once, Lucifer doesn't complain about Gabriel pulling him along. “I was just going to ask if I could use ‘Samsquatch’.” He jokes weakly as he’s tugged along.

Sam’s curiosity got the better of him, and rather than help Dean and Crowley restart on the contract, he focused his attention on the Archangels outside, visible through the window.

He’s not sure what was said, but he could tell that whatever it was was very personal, and difficult for Lucifer to say. Gabriel was smiling in a way that Sam had yet to see; real happiness dancing in his eyes that had nothing to do with mischief. When Gabriel pulled his unsuspecting brother into a tight hug, Sam looked back to the contract-in-progress, granting them privacy again. “What Gabriel suggested should be enough, Dean. No hurting or killing humans, no mass-destruction, no unnecessary violence. We just need to phrase it so there’s no loopholes.”

Dean nods slowly. “We need to keep him out of Hell, too. I hate to say it, but we’re better off with Crowley in charge.”

Crowley can’t help but give a self-satisfied smirk at that. “Don’t you know it, squirrel.” The King of Hell began writing, thrilled to be the one to design Lucifer’s new cage.

\- - -

The Archangels came back inside shortly, talking softly to each other in their native tongue. Sam understood bits and pieces, but they spoke too quickly for him to translate it all. Crowley had taken the (as he was fondly calling it) mother-of-all-contracts with him to the far end of the couch, and was supposedly loophole-proofing it. It was currently three pages long.

Sam was bored, so rather than disappear into the kitchen like Dean, he leaned back on his end of the couch and surreptitiously kept an eye on Lucifer and Gabriel. It was weird, how much the way they interacted reminded him of himself and Dean. Like they were normal people.

Something Gabriel said caused Lucifer to punch him in the arm, resulting in Gabriel laughing victoriously. Lucifer looked more fondly amused than angry, which Sam found strange. He had only ever seen a sharp, dangerous kind of amusement and righteous anger on the Fallen Archangel’s face.

Dean came back into the room with a couple beers and a slice of pie. Trust his big brother to still have an appetite even when the Devil himself is in their (well, technically _Bobby’s_ ) living room.

As Sam watched Dean enter, his brother froze, looking across the room. Belatedly, Sam realised the Archangels had fallen completely silent. Sam blinked in confusion, then followed Dean’s gaze.

Castiel.

Castiel, who looked far from pleased. He must have just appeared, because he seemed to still be taking in his surroundings. “What’s the meaning of all this? Crowley, Gabriel, what are you doing here?” What happened to his eyes? It looks like he’s got the beginnings of chemical burns around them. . .

No one had the guts to speak first.

The house shook slightly as Castiel’s expression darkened. “Explain yourselves. Now.” He looked at each of them, then settled on Lucifer.

Lucifer miraculously manages to meet Castiel’s growing anger with cool indifference. No one can say the devil loses his head under pressure. “They’re making a contract, concerning me. The Winchesters have Crowley writing it up, and they have threatened to falsely accuse me of injuring them in order to make me sign it.” He gestured towards Crowley. “You’re welcome to check. I doubt there’s anything you’d disapprove of.”

Castiel blinked, the anger fading a fraction as Crowley’s presence was explained. He flew over to Crowley and snatched away the unfinished contract, shooting the humans in the room an unreadable look before reading it over.

After Castiel took the contract away, Lucifer continued speaking, his tone growing more confident. “Gabriel is just doing his job, as you asked. He’s here to prevent these humans which you hold in such high regard from becoming smite-worthy douchebags.” It was technically true. . . “You should reward him.”

Castiel continued to read, but gave a distracted hum of acknowledgement.

Lucifer wasn’t done. He had been *almost* enjoying himself, damnit. And now would be the opportune moment to gain some good will from the Winchesters. “I don’t believe anyone has done anything you’ve forbidden, brother. Unless you count being clever. In that case, the Winchesters and I are guilty as charged.”

That earned him a snort from Gabriel, and a quick elbow in his side.

“And devilishly handsome.”

Another elbow.

“Oh, right. Gabriel too, I guess.” He fought to hold back the grin threatening to break out.

Castiel gave a weary shake of the head and continued reading. Lucifer totally didn’t look on purpose, but he does believe he caught Dean and Bobby smiling at their antics. Well. Two out of three ain't bad.

Eventually, Castiel looked up and addressed the Winchesters. “This is hardly necessary. Lucifer is no threat while I am in charge.”

The Archangel in question silently bristled at the dismissive tone.

Castiel looked them over, and then turned to Lucifer. “They cannot fool me with simple lies. Neither can you, though I am sure that Gabriel’s reasons for being here are entirely noble.” Lucifer almost jumped as Castiel called him out on his bullshit half-truth. “You should know that their threat held no water.” With a wave of his hand, the paper burned away to a crisp.

Next, he addressed Crowley. “You are no longer needed here. Go to Hell.” The demon was more than happy to comply, disappearing between one blink and the next.

Finally, he turned to Gabriel. “I have another job for you. Come with me.” And without further ado, he flew off.

Gabriel shrugged at Lucifer’s questioning look, and gave a quick salute to the boys. “You still totally owe me. Peace outies.” And then he too, flew off.

Silence reigned while the humans’ heartbeats slowed back to a normal pace, and Lucifer allowed relief to wash over himself. He hadn’t even noticed the tenseness that worked itself into his vessel in Castiel’s presence.

Eventually, the devil let loose a short laugh and plopped himself down on the recliner. “Well, that was fun. So, now that you three are all done with your attempt at extortion, shall we get back to the real issue?”

Sam grumbled a bit, and proceeded to stalk off towards the kitchen to get a beer. Bobby had apparently slipped away when no one was looking.

Dean dropped onto the couch. “Where the hell did Cass learn to be that. . . _Scary_? I've seen him work the intimidation angle before. . . But _that_ was something straight out of ‘the Exorcist’.”

Lucifer shrugged. "Now do you see why I’m reluctant to cross him?” He frowns, picking at the arm of the recliner, simply to give his hands something to do. “I'd like to take partial credit, but I can't really say I know him that well. Best guess; anger brings out his dark side—literally.”

“You’re probably right.” Dean sighs, leaning back. “At least, I hope so.”

The Devil hums noncommittally, decides he doesn’t like sitting properly (it’s just not any fun to use things as they were intended to be), and promptly changes positions: laying his back on the seat part and swinging his legs above him to hook over the back of the recliner.

Dean levels the upside-down angel across from him with an annoyed glare. Lucifer just returns the look with the cockiest smile Dean had ever witnessed.

Sam re-entered the room a few moments later, nursing a beer.

A quick headcount revealed that they were down a human. Lucifer laced his hands behind his head. “Where’s the old man?”

Dean shrugs, still scowling. “His name is Bobby. And I'm not sure. His office, maybe? Why?”

“I’m supposed to be watching you lot, remember?” The devil answers, looking towards the hallway. In an effort to get more comfortable (or maybe just to be disrespectful), he kicks off his shoes and socks, letting them fall noisily to the ground behind the recliner.

Dean’s comment about Lucifer being a shit nanny goes ignored.

“If you want to check, it’s at the end of the hall, on the left.” Sam directs, booting up his laptop.

He’s acknowledged with a hum, but Lucifer doesn’t get up right away. It’s another few moments before he rolls off the recliner with a put-upon sigh and heads that way, calling out as he nears the office door. “Old man, are you in there?”

Not hearing an answer, he opened the door . . . and immediately got a face-full of water. Gross, stale water, which had obviously spent a considerable amount of time in a metal container. The rancid liquid assaulted his enhanced senses of taste and smell. The devil spluttered briefly, but quickly recovered. “What the. . .” He glared at the source of the unexpected attack. “Holy Water? Really? I’m an _angel_ , moron.”

Bobby looked pretty self-satisfied. “I’ve got a name, idjit.”

“Congradu-fucking-lations.” Lucifer sneered as the old hunter walked over to his bookshelf.

“I've got more where that came from, pal. Watch yer tongue.” He appeared to be looking for something. “What’d ya want?”

“I came to make sure you haven’t expired yet, or something equally ridiculous and human.” He explains tersely, drying his face on his sleeve. Ugh, the damned stuff smells awful. . . He’ll definitely have to change his shirt. And it’s definitely holy water, meaning he can’t use powers derived from hell on himself to just snap it away. . . He’s made that mistake before.

The hunter shoots him a bemused look, and shakes a tarnishing silver canteen labelled ‘April 1988’ in a vaguely threatening manner.

The glare intensifies. “I’m going to enjoy ripping your throat out when this is over.” To punctuate the statement, he snaps his fingers and the canteen in Bobby’s hand crumples up to the size of a nickel, the water inside bursting out and drenching the hunter’s arm.

“. . . Sure.” Neither the water nor the threat seemed to faze the old man. He turned the imploded object over in his hand before tossing it onto the desk and walking across the room. “If you still _want_ to by then.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucifer leans against the door frame.

“Get a dictionary if ya don't know. Now, if you’re done standing around and asking dumb questions, make yourself useful and help me find my bible.” Bobby replies grumpily, picking up a wrinkled towel to dry off his arm.

“I know what it _means_ , old man.” The fallen angel grits his teeth in frustration. “What _I_ meant was, what did you mean by _if?_ Why wouldn’t I?” He ignores the callous order, folding his arms over his chest and staying where he was.

Bobby goes back to the bookshelf. “Then that’s what you should’ve asked. And I'll thank you not to call me ‘Old Man’ again.”

“Yeah? Well I'd thank you to go fuck yourself, but we don't all get what we want, do we?” Lucifer brushes a drop of water off his forearm. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Watch your tongue, boy. I don’t care if you’re Satan, Peter Pan, or the damn tooth fairy. You’re in my house, and you’ll treat me with some goddamn respect.” He had Lucifer’s full attention by the end of his outburst, the devil’s cool gaze locked on his own heated glare.

Several seconds passed in silence. The staring contest ended with Lucifer rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

"Yeah, okay, _sir_." Bobby corrects, practically growling.

“Don’t push it, Singer. Now will you just answer me already?” There’s no response, except for Bobby to go back to his Bible search. Silence reigns for a long while.

Never one for patience, and tired of being ignored, Lucifer eventually relents. “Will you answer me, _sir_?” It’s not really giving in if he still _sounds_ disrespectful. . .

It seems to be enough for Bobby, anyways. “Don’t need to.” The hunter finally replies, having the decency not to sound smug. “Before we’re done, you’ll know what I meant. And if you don’t, then it won’t really matter, will it?”

The Fallen angel seethes for a few seconds. “Are you always this infuriating?”

The old man leans against his desk, smiling to himself. “Just on days that end in ‘y’.”

The Angel stepped away from the wall. “Whatever. I have better ways to spend my time.” Lucifer spat before turning on his heel and heading back to the common area.

Sam looked up as Lucifer dropped onto the recliner again, looking like he was _trying_ to be nonchalant, and failing miserably. And was he . . . _wet_? Sam shook his head, and returned to searching his laptop for lore on the entrance to the Garden of Eden.

Eventually, Lucifer broke the quiet. “Is he that touchy all the time?”

Ah, that explains the water. Good ol’ Bobby. “Yep.” The brothers answered in unison, not looking away from their respective activities.

After giving an irritated huff, the devil didn’t interrupt them again; making himself comfortable until someone found something.

\- - -

Castiel seemed impatient when Gabriel caught up to him after just a few seconds. “Are you sure putting Luce on babysitting duty is the best idea, bro? He’s not really nanny-material, y’know.”

“He’ll manage. For all his pride and arrogance, Lucifer is a survivor. He will do what he must. And if I'm wrong… Well, then he won't survive, will he?” Castiel quickly dismisses the subject. “Do you know where we are?”

Gabe looked around them, quickly recognising the place. “Wall Street?”

The younger nods once. “Here, corruption and dishonesty run rampant. I want you to relay a message to the filth here. They have one week to prove that they deserve forgiveness, and then I will smite the unrepentant. Use whatever means suite you.” He doesn't linger, moving on to his next ‘Holy Mission’.

Gabriel sighs, wonders what possibly could have made his brother like this, and then gets to work. People’s lives now depend on how quick and effective he can be.

**\- Three days (or thereabouts) later -**

Coming back to heaven after being in the cage for nearly two years felt like a dream. Michael half-expected at any time to blink and reopen his eyes to the darkness he’s become so accustomed to lately.

But no, this is real, and if the situation weren’t so dire, he’d be singing with joy.

His brothers and sisters offered less resistance than he would have expected, which he is grateful for. His return acts as a catalyst, word spreading quickly as he slowly but surely reinstates normalcy among their ranks.

It's easy to fall back into place, to be the rock that keeps his family steady. It’s familiar. If he tries, he can almost forget that anything ever changed. Almost.

Setting up the private frequency is a fairly simple matter. Ongkanon is a shrewd Angel, and doesn’t question his strange request.

Hearing Lucifer and Gabriel’s voices over ‘Angel radio’ again is a dream he’d long since given up hope on. He missed them both more than he had allowed himself to admit, and having them back now is a blessing he isn’t entirely sure that he deserves.

Michael keeps himself busy. He talks to everyone with something to say, and he mourns as he finds out who is dead. Naomi steps up to help him round up those in hiding, to tell them that the war has ended, and they may return home, to safety. Some choose to stay on Earth. He leaves them be.

When every Angel is accounted for (so many dead), Michael knows his next step is to report to Castiel. He finds himself wanting to put it off as long as possible. So he busies himself with clearing away the burned-out vessels of angels (brothers, sisters) Castiel had massacred, and allows his mind to wander.

Lucifer’s voice unexpectedly interrupts his train of thought before long. _‘ ‘Michael, are you all right?’ ’_

He belatedly realised that he had allowed his feelings to bleed, and quickly tightens his hold on them. _‘ ‘Just fine. How’s the babysitting going?’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Tch. Liar.’ ’_ Lucifer admonishes, but doesn’t press the subject. _‘ ‘Better since Cassie showed up and saved me from that damn contract.’ ’_

Gabriel chimed in, too. _‘ ‘I helped! Stalling for the win, am I right?’ ’_

Lucifer hummed in agreement. _‘ ‘That you did.’ ’_

Michael smiled to himself, enjoying the distracting conversation as he closed another sister’s eyes. _‘ ‘It’s about time that you caught a break. You said before that they weren’t content to wait, have they found a way to stop Castiel?’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Not quite.’ ’_ Lucifer continues after a short pause. ‘ ‘ _We’re counting on Castiel finding out about the Leviathan and wanting to get rid of them. The plan is to have a portal to purgatory prepared.’ ’_

Gabriel’s distinct snicker chimed through their minds. _‘ ‘planning to have a portal to purgatory prepared, huh? That’s fun to say.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘I know, right?’ ’_ The second-eldest sounded mighty pleased with himself. _‘ ‘Anyways, do either of you happen to know how to get into the Garden? I’m not exactly allowed in anymore. . .’ ’_

Michael took a moment to remember which spell he’s referring to. _‘ ‘You need dirt, right?’ ’_

‘ ‘ _Yep. I can provide the feathers and hellfire.’ ’_ Lucifer responds flippantly. Michael fights to keep his pang of guilt to himself. Lucifer wouldn't appreciate it.

Gabriel’s the one who answers Lucifer’s original question. _‘ ‘I can get it. Joshua likes me.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘No Gabe, I can do it.’ ’_ Michael insists. He’d like the excuse to do some flying anyways. _‘ ‘I'm not busy.’ ’_

A pause. ‘ ‘ _Sure, knock yourself out bro.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘There’s no rush. I’m enjoying Sam’s frustration.’ ’_ Lucifer quips, accompanying the statement with an image of the large human frowning with consternation at his laptop.

Michael smiled. _‘ ‘I’ll take the scenic route.’ ’_ It’s petty, but in his opinion, totally deserved. Because really, fuck that guy.

The eldest Angel is all too happy to leave this field of death, flying off to speak with Joshua.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [Monkeygirl77](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4360945/) for being my amazing beta and putting up with my weirdness!


	4. Pride and Prejudice

The polite knock on the front door early the next morning comes too soon for Lucifer. Sam looked up, surprised. Dean stood up to go get it, but Lucifer beat him to the punch. “Coming!”

The brothers exchange a look, getting up anyways to follow him. A few days in close quarters with Lucifer tipped them off to his out-of-the-ordinary behaviour, which could only mean something interesting was about to happen.

Lucifer had his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t pull it open immediately. “Who is it?” His sing-song tone made Sam and Dean fairly sure that he knew exactly who it was. Friend? Foe? Who knew, when it came to the Devil.

“You _know_ who _.”_ Whoever it was didn’t sound too keen to play his games. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, however.

“Voldemort?” Lucifer somehow managed to make the inquiry sound serious.

“What? No, it’s Michael. Open the door, you ass.” Came the exasperated response.

“Michael??” Sam and Dean simultaneously asked as Lucifer pulled the door open with a tsk.

“Language, brother.” The teasing admonishment was met with an attempted nose-flick (Old habits die hard, I suppose). Lucifer reflexively dodged, grinning in the kind of way only a triumphant younger sibling can.

Michael addressed the very confused humans behind his brother. “I hope he hasn't been causing you too much trouble? Here, I brought you the dirt you need for your spell.” The Archangel offered them the previously unnoticed jar of dirt he had tucked under one arm. (he’s got a jar of dirt!)

Dean takes it, looking warily between Lucifer and Michael, as if he half-expected the apocalypse to start anew purely by virtue of them both being in the same room. “Thanks. . . Long time no see, Michael. Um, since when do angels knock?”

“Believe it or not, Dean, some of us _do_ actually have manners.” Michael replies, amused. “We aren’t _all_ as crass as Lucifer and Gabriel.”

“I resent that,” Lucifer protests, “don’t lump me in with _Gabriel_. You’d think he was raised in a barn.”

"Says the one who raised him,” comes the smug retort. But before Lucifer can one-up him, he barrels on; “anyways, I'm not supposed to be here. It was nice to see you boys again. Oh, and Adam says hello. And many other things I'm not inclined to repeat. Farewell Sam, Dean, Robert. . . Brother.” The Archangel waves good-bye cheerfully before taking flight.

Sam immediately rounded on Lucifer. “You asked him to get the dirt, and just let me keep looking for Eden?”

The devil didn’t bother to feign innocence as he smirks at his former vessel. “Well, you just seemed like you were enjoying your research _so_ much. . . I didn’t have the heart to interrupt.”

“Four whole days, Lucifer. I wasted _four days._ ”

“Oh please,” The Archangel drawls, “It was three and a half, at best. And certainly not a waste, I’m sure you learned all sorts of things you never knew.”

Dean did his best to disguise his laugh with fake-coughing.

Sam's scowl deepens. “. . . Okay. So we have the dirt. What’s next? Because I’d like to try frying up an Archangel right about now.”

Lucifer sticks his forked tongue out at his former vessel.

“The feather ash.” Bobby interjects, surprising the others and interrupting Sam’s ire. Nobody even noticed him enter. That man can be as quiet as a mouse when he wants to be. Bobby gives Lucifer a pointed look. “Oh look, we’re in luck, a fallen angel.”

Said fallen angel pulls a face, disliking the sarcastic tone, and not particularly _wanting_ to pluck any of his feathers out for their cause. (Not to mention, even billions of years later, the fall is still something of a sore point.)

“And then just hellfire, right?” Dean finishes, also looking pointedly at Lucifer. “Can you snap it up, or . . . ?” He leaves the question hanging.

 _“Just_ hellfire, he says.” Bobby grumbles under his breath.

The devil shakes his head. “You have to get it from Hell. I can get it by myself, no problem. But I’m not supposed to leave you three on your own.”

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked at Bobby. Bobby shrugged at Lucifer. “We ain’t gonna snitch on you if you ain’t gonna snitch on us.”

“Nope. I don’t trust you lot. I can get a demon to bring it to us if one of you lends me some blood.” He leans back against the wall, tone bored. “Or you lot can summon Crowley to do your bidding, like the good little errand boy he is. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

He had to wait a bit before one of them volunteered, but Lucifer was fine with that. Now that they have the dirt, there’s no real sense of urgency to all this. The other two items will be easy to retrieve whether they need them in the next five minutes, or several weeks from now.

It was Bobby who flipped open a knife and held it over his arm. Wordlessly, he cut a shallow line, and held the wound over Lucifer’s now-outstretched hand. The devil didn’t need much, and he pulled his hand back after his palm was filled.

“ _Inferni sectatores, nunc audite Patrem._ ” Lucifer’s ice-blue eyes flashed bright red, and the blood moved as if it was boiling sluggishly. He leaned back against the wall, making the blood-filled hand into the shape of a phone, and holding it up to his ear. “Yo.” There was a pause as he listened to something that made him smile. “Okay, Belial. I get it. You missed me.” Another pause. “No, Crowley’s still your boss, for now. Play nice and listen to him. Look, can we do this later? I need something kind of important.” Another pause, and Lucifer feigned covering the ‘receiver’ so he could roll his eyes exaggeratedly at the Winchesters. “. . . Yes, that’s very nice. Now, I need—” He frowned as he was cut off. “. . . Really? Unacceptable. Fix it.” He nodded to himself a few times. “Yeah. I need hellfire, preferably in something that can contain it.” A brief pause, and he sighs. “Can’t. I'll explain later. Meet me at the Singer Salvage Yard, Sioux Falls, South Dakota.” His lips twitch in mild irritation as he listens to the response. “Yes, I know who lives there. These are. . . Extenuating circumstances. No, they won’t attack you.” Another brief wait. “Mhm. See ya.” The devil ‘hung up’, and snapped his hand clean. Bobby’s arm was also ‘mysteriously’ healed, but nobody felt inclined to question it.

A (frankly, enormous) demon (really, his bulky vessel dwarfed Lucifer) carrying a sigil-covered, old-fashioned oil lamp filled with dark red flames appeared a moment later. Belial, the humans assumed. The dude’s vessel was ripped, shirtless, and looked vaguely like the love child of George Clooney and Brad Pitt. If Dean didn’t know better (and wasn’t straighter than a marine’s back), he’d guess the guy was some kind of sex God. (The most amusing part—in Lucifer’s opinion anyways—is that before the man was possessed, he was just a baker.) He ignored the humans in favour of kneeling respectfully to Lucifer. “Father, your return will be rejoiced.” He seemed to notice the now old and yellowing bruise on Lucifer’s face with a brief flash of shock, but was wise enough not to comment on it.

“Yeah, about that.” Lucifer gestures for the demon to rise. “Things are a little complicated right now, and I need to be discreet. Do you think you could keep this between us?”

Belial stood, openly confused as he handed the hellfire to Lucifer. “. . . As you wish, my Lord.”

“Thank you.” The fallen angel handed it off to Bobby. “Here. It can be a little jumpy, so I suggest _not_ putting it near anything you would regret losing.”

“. . . Thanks.” The hunter replies gruffly, carefully holding the lamp at arm’s length. After a moment of deliberation, he decides to leave it on the already water-ring stained coffee table.

A faint smile of satisfaction graces the devil’s face. “Don't mention it.” He turns back to his ‘child’. “I’ll be back before you know it, Bel. I just have to deal with a troublesome brother of mine first. Go find some easy chicks or whatever it is you do for fun, okay?”

Belial gave an obedient nod, but didn’t leave right away. Instead, he chewed his lip for a second before asking, “Of course, but, before I go. . . may I. . .?”

Lucifer sighs, understanding the unfinished question. He kind of expected this request. “Oh, very well.” He certainly never really minded it before, but with the knowledge that he’d cause discomfort to the humans present, this time the decision was a no-brainier.

The impressive demon didn't waste a second, closing the distance between them and dragging the Archangel into a heated kiss. Lucifer himself was just as much a participant as the demon, pressing his comparatively slim body flush against the larger’s muscular chest. It was a rather obscene display.

Dean choked on air and turned away, while Bobby and Sam wore almost identical expressions of shock.

Neither exactly needed to come up for air, but when Lucifer decided enough was enough (ie; when the demon’s hands began to wander beyond ‘publicly acceptable’ places), he tapped the larger man’s shoulder. Belial was reluctant to pull away, but knew better than to take more than Lucifer allowed him to and did so promptly. Feeding off of Lucifer himself left the Incubus practically glowing with strength. With a smile and another bow, he disappeared.

Lucifer watched the demon leave with vague amusement. “Incubi are funny little creatures.” He says by way of explanation.

Sam finally gets his voice back, grimacing at the Archangel. “Belial, that’s an archdemon, right?”

“Very good, Sam.” Lucifer praises him, turning towards the humans. “You’ve been paying attention in Sunday school, I see. Yes, Belial is the archdemon of lust. Not to be confused with Lust, the demon, who was never human to begin with. As you can see. . . Belial is a little more ambitious with his targets than most Incubi. But, he’s good at keeping secrets, and is undyingly loyal to and completely infatuated with me.”

There was a low groan to his left. “You could’ve warned us.” Dean complained angrily.

Lucifer scoffed at him. “Small price to pay for your hellfire. I won’t apologise for offending your homophobic self. Honestly, I’m surprised. I was almost convinced you had a hard-on for Castiel.”

“I’m not—I don't—” Dean fumes silently for a moment. “Shut up.”

The devil’s victory smirk only served to further infuriate the hunter. “With the way you stare at him? I’m not saying you’re seriously repressed, but. . . No, yeah, that’s exactly what I'm saying. Loosen up a little, Dean-o. You’re as bad as Michael. Join the ‘I kissed a guy and I liked it’ club. We have more fun, don’t we, Sammy?”

Dean looked at Sam in surprise, who went a little red. “One time. At Stanford.”

“Ooh, drama!” Lucifer proclaimed gleefully, watching the brothers with interest.

He got two glares in response. “Fuck off.” Dean eventually spat out.

It wasn't the first time he'd told Lucifer to do so over the past few days, but it was the first time he was successful.

“Mm, don’t mind if I do.” Came the quick reply, and the Archangel was gone, probably not too far off, but well out of sight.

A gruff voice shouted after him. “You better bring feathers back with you, ya hear!?” Bobby shook his head, silently lamenting that he’s too old for this shit. “Balls. See what you did? Now you’ve gone an’ given him another excuse to run off and keep us from making this portal. Way to go, Dean.”

The younger hunter had the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry, Bobby. But man, that guy is everything I hate about demons and angels, all wrapped up into one big asshole.”

“I hear ya, kid.” Bobby agreed, tossing Dean a sympathetic look. Even _he_ was a little worn thin after dealing with the devil almost nonstop for three days straight. “That ain’t no excuse though, boy. You best hope he comes back with feathers.”

The tallest inhabitant of the room had his arms crossed in disapproval. “He’s getting way too comfortable around us.”

“. . . That don’t have to be a bad thing, Sam.” Bobby mused. “You’ve got an opportunity here, boys. We’ve got the devil right here, and he’s forced to play nice. Now, we know this ain’t gonna last forever. And when Castiel’s fixed, who do you think our next problem is gonna be? You’ve already royally pissed him off, more than once. So lay off the hostilities. Show the guy some kindness, and maybe he’ll remember it when this mess is over. By blondie’s estimate, we’ve got another three weeks to turn him around. We should make the most of ‘em.”

His words were met with identical grimaces of distaste. Dean’s the one who answered. “Can’t we just throw him in purgatory too? If it can hold the Leviathan, it can probably hold him. . .”

“Don’t put all your chicks in one basket, Dean.” Bobby sighs, shaking his head. “Y’know, it might not be as hard as you think. Now I've met the guy, he reminds me an awful lot of Castiel, before you boys got to him. Just with an updated sense of humour, and a lot more baggage.”

The grimace on Dean’s face only got worse. Sam looked thoughtful. “. . . Yeah, I can see it.”

“Are you serious?” Dean rounded on his brother. “He’s _nothing_ like Cas. He-He’s _evil_ , for one. And he doesn’t give two shits about _us_ , that’s for sure.”

The responding snort from Bobby caught him off guard. “You didn’t like Cass at first, either.”

“And I seem to remember him threatening to toss you back in Hell. . .” Sam added.

The older brother threw his hands up. “Whose side are you on, Sammy?”

“The side that _doesn’t_ get everybody killed.” The younger replied smoothly.

Dean glared. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“ _Boys.”_ Bobby interrupted, exasperated. “Sam’s right, Dean. Now, everyone on board with givin’ Lucifer a chance?”

Reluctantly, both Winchesters nodded.

“Good. Now go find a hunt or somethin’, we’re in for a wait.” And with that, the old hunter left to return to his office with the dirt and the hellfire.

There were a few moments of silence, and then; “So, are you actually bi, or was it like a one-off, experimental thing?”

“Oh my _God_ , Dean.”

\- - -

Michael didn’t have much trouble locating Castiel. The former Seraph was easily the brightest thing on the planet. So bright that he burned to look at directly.

After delivering the dirt to the Winchesters (and boy, wasn’t _that_ a surreal meeting), Michael decided he’d procrastinated long enough, and sought out Castiel to update him on Heaven’s status.

His brother was in the middle of ousting some priest as a hypocrite and a pervert when Michael landed, so the elder Angel waited for him to finish.

Apparently he was less discreet than he had thought, because a young girl who had seen him suddenly appear wandered over and tugged on his sleeve, surprising him. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old. “Mister, mister, how’d you do that?”

He blinked owlishly down at her. She was so small. Michael knelt down so as to speak to her more quietly. “How did I do what?”

“You just came outta nowhere!” She whisper-shouted, obviously excited. “Like the weird scary man talking to Father Don.”

He considered her for a moment before answering. “I flew.”

The little girl gasped. “Like ‘n angel?!”

“Exactly like an angel.” He couldn’t resist a smile, enjoying the girl’s genuine awe.

“ _Wow_. So d’you have wings? Can I see ‘em?” She practically bubbled with enthusiasm.

“I do.” Michael assured her. “But they aren’t safe for your eyes.” There was indeed a reason that they keep their wings invisible when on earth. Even just displaying their shadows was enough to stop the average human in his or her tracks.

"Aww . . ." She was clearly disappointed. But then she perked up again. “What’s your name, Mister Angel?”

Well, what can it hurt? “Michael, little one.”

Her mouth made the shape of an ‘o’. “Like the Michael my CCE teacher told me about? Did you really fight _Satan_?”

And suddenly, the conversation wasn't so enjoyable. “Yes, that’s me.”

Awed silence. Then the little girl tugged on his arm again. “That’s so cool! If you’re really _that_ Michael, are you here because of the melty-face man? Is he really God?” She slipped Castiel a skeptical look and whispered conspiratorially. “I don't think he is. I think he’s lying.”

He wants to tell her she’s right, but he has a feeling that despite all evidence to the contrary, Castiel can hear them. “He’s not the same God as in the Bible, but he is very strong, and he wants to make the world better, little one. You shouldn't say such things.”

The girl blinked at him in confusion. “He’s a different God? Then where’d _God-_ God go?”

Michael releases a sad sigh. “I wish I knew, child.” Putting a hand on her shoulder, he stood up. “You should go back to your parents. And . . .” He glanced over at Castiel, where he was advancing on the priest. “. . . Don’t watch this.”

The little girl nodded silently and obeyed, darting back to her pew and covering her eyes. After all, if an angel tells you you should do something, it’s probably best to listen. And she really believed that she just met Michael, the first of the angels. He wasn’t scary, and didn’t sound like a liar. And that was enough for her.

Children are strangely gifted in regard to telling falsities from truths.

As Michael predicted, Castiel smote the Priest in front of the congregation, making the point that he wouldn't tolerate sinners amongst his sheep. The man screamed, long and shrill. Michael saw the child he had been talking to cringe down at the horrible sound, and he took pity on her. So young, to be experiencing such a gruesome death.

‘Father Don’ fell to the ground, eyes burnt out and mouth grotesquely agape. Michael pitied him, too.

Castiel finally acknowledged him, and gestured for him to follow as he flew out of the church. With a final glance at the small girl, he complied, landing next to his younger brother in the bell tower above. “Heaven’s settling down. Our brothers and sisters have taken my return well, and are bringing everything back into order. You told me to inform you of this?”

“Indeed. Well done, Michael.” Castiel intoned, turning from the view of the city to examine his brother. He wrinkled his nose as he scrutinised the other. “. . . Why do you smell like dirt?”

Panic. Michael knows he can’t lie, so he tells the truth. “I spoke with Joshua as well, Castiel.”

There was a terrifying pause, but then Castiel seemed to accept his answer. “I see.” Michael didn't let himself relax just yet. “And did Joshua have you roll around the garden with him?”

Wording is essential. “No, of course not. But I was asked to do a little digging there.” He _was_. . . just not by Joshua. Even if it’s for a good cause, the misdirection makes him feel vaguely sick.

Castiel watched his brother for another moment before shrugging that line of questioning off. “Very well. If all is as you say it is, then I wish to speak with our siblings. Go and gather them, Gabriel included. I will meet you soon, once I have Lucifer.”

Warning bells went off in his head, and while he outwardly nodded calmly to Castiel, mentally he screamed over Angel Radio to Lucifer and Gabriel. _‘ ‘HIDE THE DIRT, HE’S COMING!!’ ’_

Castiel was gone a second later, and Michael could only cross his fingers and hope that Lucifer was nowhere near the evidence of his misleading truths. Angel radio was worryingly silent, save for the anxiety he felt from Gabriel.

He stayed frozen for another second, then quietly ordered Gabriel over their link to meet him in heaven, and proceeded to fly home to gather the rest.

\- - -

Lucifer barely had time to react (let alone _do_ anything) between Michael suddenly screaming at him, and Castiel’s appearance at his side. He just thanked his lucky stars that the jar was indoors, and he hadn’t touched it.

Presently, he was on the roof of Singer’s home, all six of his wings out so that he could groom them. As he pulled out feathers, he stuffed the average-sized ones into a pocket inside his jacket. The small, downy ones were allowed to just drift off on the breeze, however. He had been absentmindedly humming ‘stairway to heaven’ to himself. It was strangely relaxing.

Castiel was giving him a look he couldn't quite place.

Lucifer stood abruptly. “Castiel.” He dropped the feather currently in his hand, deciding not to let Castiel know he was collecting them. “The Winchesters are inside, looking for something to hunt.”

Castiel said nothing.

“I just. . . Needed to take a break. I apologise.” He continued, wings folding behind him in a physical show of his growing anxiety.

Finally, the brunette blinked. “A. . . _Break_?”

“Yes, Castiel. I’m sure you’re well aware of how. . . Trying your humans can be.” Castiel’s tone was not one of approval, and it put Lucifer’s nerves on edge. His thoughts went something along the lines of ‘well shit, this can't mean anything good.’

“Indeed, I am.” The younger stepped forward, that odd look still on his face.

"Then you must understand why I wanted a little time to myself, brother. . ."

“I don’t seem to remember listing ‘me-time’ amongst your duties, Lucifer.” The younger coldly responded, seeming to decide his position on this. “Is the infamous devil _himself_ telling me that a couple of _humans_ have bested him all on their own in only a handful of days?”

“No, of _course_ not—”

“Is that not what you said?” The bastard seemed terribly amused. “That you _needed_ a break, because they’re so very _trying_?”

Lucifer grimaced as his words were thrown back at him. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“Then how _did_ you mean it, brother?” Castiel cut him off again, and if he were not imbued with God-like power, Lucifer would be doing something about that. “If what you told me before was not the truth, then what _is_?”

“I. . .” The devil paused, for once holding back his smart tongue. Castiel wanted the truth, did he? Well, he wasn’t about to get it. Not the _whole_ truth, anyways. He’d get what he wanted to hear. Lucifer was good at that.

This time Castiel waited, making it clear that he would let the other talk.

In a bid to both save face and wipe the stupid smug smirk off Castiel’s face, Lucifer chose his next words carefully. “The truth? Okay, _fine_. The truth is, I was bored. They don’t _do_ much, your humans. I came up here to do something productive.” To emphasise his next point, he stretched out one long, graceful wing and gestured to it. “My wings have been in a shameful state of neglect for some time now, so in light of my re-instatement as your Archangel, I thought perhaps I should at least _try_ to look the part. I had to go somewhere I could listen in on, but not be seen by, the Winchesters. I’m sure you’re well aware of what the sight of my corporeal wings would do to their fragile minds.”

Of course, a ‘shameful state of neglect’ meant little more than ‘I haven’t groomed them to perfection in _three whole days_ ’, creature of pride that Lucifer is. To be fair, he did look rather worse for wear compared to his usual pristine appearance. His time around humans had certainly taken its toll on him.

The still stretched-out onyx-feathered limb practically shone as the sunlight caught the edges of his feathers. Those edges hinted at a myriad of colours, a quality that even falling from heaven couldn’t completely remove from his once-opalescent wings.

While Castiel remained amused, the edge of disapproval and suspicion was distinctly subdued. Mission success . . . or close enough, anyways.

“So you slipped away to make yourself feel pretty. . .” Castiel sneered at him, and Lucifer instinctively knew that he had not made his situation any better. “. . . How cute, and utterly _pathetic_.”

Lucifer drew his wings back in as Castiel advanced towards him. The close proximity allowed him to clearly see the black lines crawling up his brother’s neck.

The elder finds himself unable to move as Castiel runs a deceptively gentle hand over the edge of his wing. A twisted mixture of mirth and malice lights up his eyes as he does so. “I see why He was so fascinated with you. Why you were His favourite. It had to intrigue Him, for one to be so pretty, yet be so ugly in all the ways that matter.” The words sting, but only because some place deep within himself, Lucifer had once thought the same things, had had that exact fear. He had wondered if he really was the monster they all said, and if that was true, then why did God create him thus? Why did He build him up, make him believe he was something more, if He knew the end product? Was it all just a game to Him?

No, it was more than that, Lucifer wants to protest. He wasn’t just some. . . Some freak that Father had found amusing. . . Was he?

No, he decides. Only God knows why He loved—or at least pretended to love—Lucifer so much. And despite his claims to the contrary, Castiel is not God. He never will be.

These thoughts are interrupted by said false-God’s continued speech. “Poor, poor little monster, fancying himself an angel. Let me tell you a secret, brother dearest. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and a snake in any other skin remains as vile. No matter how you look, Lucifer, you will _always_ be a monster, and no amount of grooming will change that. You may be allowed to play the Archangel again, but do not delude yourself into thinking that makes you one. Mind your place. You are here because I allow it, and you’d do well not to forget that.”

The Archangel shuts his eyes, as if that will calm his turbulent thoughts. This . . . _taunting_ shouldn't affect him so much. . . Why is Castiel doing this? What does he gain from this? “Why did you come to find me?” He inquires instead, hoping to change the subject.

The abrupt and unrelated question seemed to shake Castiel somewhat. The dark glint from before disappears altogether from his eyes. “Michael has Heaven in order, and we—” He suddenly stopped, narrowing his eyes as he notices something. “You smell like sulphur.”

Lucifer froze. Of course he did, he had a fucking _archdemon_ all pressed up against him. “I—”

Castiel breathed deeply, and his expression hardened further. Before Lucifer could react, or even finish his sentence, there was a hand pressed to his cheek, and Castiel’s thumb was running across his (damnit) kiss-swollen bottom lip.

“Explain.” Castiel growls darkly. “And I want the _whole_ truth, Lucifer, or so help me, I will smite you where you stand.”

The devil swallows, not doubting that Castiel would follow through on the threat. He took half a second to collect himself. No need to sound guilty, he can do this. The truth. Easy, right? “Just before I left them, the Winchesters needed hellfire for a spell. You told me not to abandon them, so I called a demon I trust in order to get it for them. He is an incubus, and therefore wanted a kiss in return, so I gave him one. The demon is gone, and is no threat to the Winchesters. I made him swear to secrecy. The hellfire is safely contained.” Short, simple, truthful. His voice didn’t waver, thank God. (Oh, the irony.)

Castiel’s anger did not abate, but he didn’t move to smite Lucifer, so the latter took that as a good sign. Lucifer had to wait for what felt like hours before Castiel spoke. He had the sneaking suspicion that Castiel wasn’t the only one speaking. The dark glint was present once more. “I don't think you understand, Lucifer, what exactly I meant when I had you pledge yourself to me. You are _mine_ now. In _every_ sense. It is not for you to decide if a demon may kiss you or not. It is not for you to decide if you need a _break_ from the Winchesters, or not.” With this, he pointedly gripped the edge of the wing his hand still rested on, nearly tight enough to snap the hollow bone beneath. “Your life belongs to me. _You_ belong to me.”

Lucifer’s (well, Nick’s, really) heart beat wildly in his chest, fear crawling under his skin. Even though it was only a bold statement, it felt like fact. Never in his life had he felt so helpless, had he ever had his control stripped from him in this way.

A beat of silence, and Castiel released his wing, but not his face. Fingers were pressed painfully into his slowly healing bruise. “. . . Sheath your wings, brother. Heaven awaits.”

The devil did so with great relief, glad to have his most vulnerable and valuable assets back where they can’t be harmed.

“Much better,” Castiel muses out loud, “Something so tainted should not be seen amongst the purity of heaven. You’re bad enough as it is without those defiled things out for all to see your shame.”

It was a bad idea, but he met Castiel’s harsh gaze with his own, unable to hide the look of defiance that comes so naturally to him. He remained silent; his eyes said everything for him.

Another tense beat, and the hand on his face dropped back to Castiel’s side. Lucifer relaxed just a fraction, but that was a mistake. The hand came back up with inhuman speed, a backhand meant for his finally-healing cheek.

It was a truly terrible idea, but Lucifer wasn’t thinking of the consequences. He simply reacted, his instincts taking charge. His hand came up and caught Castiel’s wrist in mid-air, just a measly two inches from his face. Still purely on instinct, he bent the limb away from himself, snapping the bone underneath Castiel’s skin.

Castiel blinked, and then cold fury overtook his features. Lucifer let go immediately, knowing that now he’d _really_ fucked up.

Castiel bled black.

That’s the last thing he registered before the younger drew back again and hit him, hard. Lucifer fought not to defend himself, knowing he’d only be making it worse if he did. The already-injured side of his face stung and flared with renewed pain from the force of it. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out like the attack from a few days before, though. This wound went no deeper than his vessel, and Lucifer had to wonder at Castiel’s reasoning for it. Surely, the other was angry enough with him. . . For the second time that week, Lucifer tasted iron, and this time he felt a trickle of blood running down from the corner of his lips. But he stayed on his feet, and that’s what was ultimately most important to him.

“You will not heal yourself until I tell you to.” The shorter but somehow more imposing man ordered. Ah. So that’s why it only went vessel-deep. This was some sort of obedience bullshit.

Lucifer said nothing, gave no indication that he had heard, but did not heal himself. He simply glared silently at the younger. Castiel’s wrist was no longer broken, and Lucifer almost thought he had simply imagined the blood he’d drawn.

The second hit caught him by surprise, and Lucifer stumbled. Another vessel-deep hit, this time a fist to his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He hadn’t seen Castiel move this time, hadn’t had time to react. What did he do wrong now?

“You will speak when spoken to.” Castiel ordered, voice dangerously soft.

Lucifer spit blood to the side. Everything about this was wrong, so wrong. “Understood.” Came his obligatory response, grinding the word out against his will. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Better.” If the other’s tone was a fraction gentler, Lucifer couldn’t tell over the blood pounding in his vessel’s ears. “It seems that you _can_ learn.” The (now-dreaded) voice was amused again, dangerously so. “Once I have cleansed this planet, I will enjoy teaching you your place.”

Lucifer shivered. He had to remind himself that wasn’t Castiel, and no matter how similar his presence felt, he wasn’t God either. To reinforce this knowledge, he focused on the signs of his little brother’s vessel deteriorating. The acid burn-esque reddening reminded him of how the vessel he is once more residing in slowly peeled away during the Apocalypse.

The threat held no water, he told himself. This. . . _Thing_ that looked like his brother would never get that far. He barely remembered to respond, and his voice fell flat, the intended sarcasm becoming lost. “I can’t wait.”

That earned him a mildly terrifying chuckle. “Eager, I like that. Very well.” Lucifer finally looked up, cursing his smart mouth. The look on Castiel’s face gave him cause for worry, and the tone as he continued did not ease his apprehension. “If you must be so impatient, lesson one begins now.”

“I didn’t mean—” Lucifer was silenced with a hard look from Castiel. So he waits for an explanation, silently wishing that he had said anything, literally _anything_ else.

His wishing of course did nothing, and the cruel smile on Castiel’s face only grew. “You owe me your freedom, and how do you repay me for it? You spout your insolence, disobey the simplest of orders, and now you attempt to cause me harm.” Of course, there is no acknowledgement that Castiel attacked him first. “You’re more trouble than you're worth, Lucifer. But I believe you can learn, so I’ll give you one more chance.” The devil half-wished that Castiel didn’t have that much faith in him. At least then, he might still die with his dignity intact. “Beg, Lucifer. Beg me for your life and your freedom, neither of which you deserve.”


	5. Cleaning House

After the devil ran off to do who-knows-what, Bobby cracked down on the boys. It’s high time they did something other than argue with Lucifer and mope around the house, so he gave them some work to do.

“Why can’t you just make Lucifer do it? He can have everything clean in like, six seconds.” Dean whines as he goes to dig out Bobby’s vacuum.

The veteran hunter in question shakes his head at Dean’s suggestion. “First of all, Lucifer is a guest in my house. Guests don’t clean up unless it’s after themselves. Secondly, that menace won’t do shit unless Castiel gives the order, and you know that.” Bobby gripes as he starts picking old magazines and newspapers up off the coffee table and other surfaces. “Lastly, you got somewhere better to be, Dean? No? Then get your ass to work.”

Sam found that kind of amusing, giving a snort as he got to work dusting off the shelves, mantle, tv, etc. As the tallest, he always gets stuck with dusting, and then kitchen/dish duty when he inevitably finishes first.

“I’m a guest too.” Dean complains, like he always does on cleaning day. He really isn’t though. He and Sam have considered Bobby as close as family for a long time.

“And you’re more than capable of cleanin’ up after yourself.” Bobby counters gruffly, rolling his eyes as he found one of Dean’s skin mags tucked between two cushions in the couch.

Before he could throw it away, Dean abandoned the vacuum in order to try snatching it away from him. “Hey, that’s not trash!”

Bobby managed to keep it in his hands. “If it’s so important to ya, you shouldn’t’a left it out here.” Dean tried to get it again, but only succeeded in tearing the bright ‘busty Asian beauties’ cover off of it. Bobby threw the rest of it away as Dean watched forlornly. That trash can was full of gross crap, and there’s no way Dean is sticking his hand in there to retrieve the likely-already-ruined porn magazine.

He tucked the cover into his pocket, though. Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean went back to the vacuum. “Jackass.”

Bobby didn’t bother acknowledging the insult, just continuing what he was doing: tidying up and supervising. Dean knows better than to leave that shit in the living room.

Most of the cleaning went by without incident. It was nice to be doing something normal and family-like after all that’s been happening to them recently. They traded jibes and called each other out on various things they found while cleaning (Dean and his porn, Bobby swears). It was a good way to unwind, and even Dean had to silently thank Bobby for deciding to make them all do it. Even if he _hates_ vacuuming the two sets of wooden stairs.

Sam finished dusting all the rooms first, as he expected. So while Dean and Bobby moved on to the upstairs, he headed back down and into the kitchen. He considered turning the radio on as he filled the sink with water and dish soap.

As he heads over to the radio, he shuts his eyes and stretches his arms over his head. It’s still pretty early, all things considered, and he yawns. He actually got a somewhat decent night of sleep, for once. No weird dreams, no crazy nightmares. Maybe he was finally exhausted enough to just pass out and get some solid, dreamless sleep.

Whatever the reason, it was a blessing, and he wasn't going to question it.

He flipped the radio on, and the local country station started playing.

When he got back to it, the sink was almost full, so he turned the tap off and grabbed the first dish. He started humming along to ‘it’s five o-clock somewhere’ as he cleaned it, rinsed it off, and set it in the busted dishwasher to dry. It didn’t take him long to get into a rhythm.

Somewhere about halfway through doing the dishes, he had to drain the sink and refill it with clean water, but something strange happened when he began refilling the sink. The radio cut out suddenly (which isn’t that strange, Bobby’s signal is sometimes kind of spotty) and the music was replaced with buzzing white noise. As soon as Sam turned around to go fix the signal, the sink spluttered and the pipes groaned.

That caused him to turn back towards the counter, and what he saw nearly make him vomit.

Blood. Thick, dark, oozing blood was sploshing out of the tap, mixing with the inch of water already in the sink basin. Sam tried to turn it off, but it only came out faster, until the sink was overflowing with warm, sticky blood.

It was all over his hands, all over the dishes, all over the counter, staining everything.

The radio was laughing at him. A horrible, familiar laugh.

Sam couldn't take it anymore, and he covered his ears with his blood-soaked hands, shutting his eyes and telling himself that _it’s not real._

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The radio was playing ‘If Heaven wasn't so far away’ now, the sink was still half-full of water and suds, and the tap was turned off. His hands were dry. It was like nothing had happened.

His hallucinations are getting worse each day, and he still has no idea how to get rid of them. Telling Dean or Bobby is out of the question; there’s nothing they can do, and it’ll only give them one more thing to worry about on top of all the other shit going on.

With a deep, calming breath, Sam rubs his bandaged hand and goes back to doing the dishes, relieved when Bobby and Dean finish up upstairs and come down to join him.

\- - -

The humans within the house below remained entirely unaware of the scene unfolding above their heads.

“You’re more trouble than you're worth, Lucifer. But I believe you can learn, so I’ll give you one more chance.” The devil half-wished that Castiel didn’t have that much faith in him. At least then, he might still die with his dignity intact. “Beg, Lucifer. Beg me for your life and your freedom, neither of which you deserve.”

Pride told Lucifer to spit on Castiel’s ‘mercy’, and damn the consequences. Survival instinct told him to ignore his pride for now so that he might live to avenge it another day.

The sting of his injuries and Castiel’s threat still fresh in his mind, Lucifer chose to listen to the latter. He swallowed his (by now very much so) injured pride and stepped forward. The devil was walking on very thin ice, and he knew it. He tries not to think about this as he inclines his head slightly in acquiescence. “. . . As you wish. Just. . . Allow me a moment, please.”

God is patient, Castiel muses to himself as he gives a slight nod. “Take your time.” The usually kind-hearted statement lacked any of the warmth that would make it so.

Lucifer has never begged for anything in his life. And if he had things his way, this fact would be true to the day he died. But he knows he can’t die yet. If Castiel is to be stopped— _saved_ —then they’ll need his feathers. (That is, unless they can recreate a lunar eclipse. . . which is about as likely as God coming back is.) For once, there is something that is definitively more important to him than his self-esteem.

That thought gives him pause. Why _is_ this so important to him? Isn’t his goal the fall of humanity? The destruction of this flawed race? What worse fate is there, than to be slowly consumed by the Leviathan? Why not make his last act of defiance be to assure the destruction of man and heaven alike?

. . . No. Only the fool gives his life with the expectation that Fate will play out a certain way. No, if the world is to end, he wants to be there to witness it. After all, where’s the satisfaction in success if he’s not around to see it?

Not quite satisfied with this justification, but not willing to test Castiel’s patience much further, Lucifer steels himself and clasps his hands in front of him, lifting them in the simplest form that can be recognised as begging. “Castiel, I—I . . . Don’t deserve the mercy you’ve shown me.” The words are quiet, as if he subconsciously believes that if he says is softly enough, he can pretend it never happened. “Please, I. . . I beg of you, allow me my life, and allow me the freedom—”

When the slap came, he was unprepared, and gave a small, involuntary gasp of pain. His eyes flew open and he stared at Castiel uncomprehendingly.

“Like you _mean_ it, brother.” Castiel growls out, barely controlled anger shining in the blue fire of his eyes. “Again.”

“I. . . Of course, brother.” Unlike before, Lucifer does not protest. He’s tired of being slapped around, belittled, and treated like he’s less than nothing by this once-Angel. This Monster. Lucifer just wants this special brand of hell to end.

If that means sucking it up and playing the obedient pet, then so be it. (At least he knows it won’t be forever.)

He tries again, this time dropping to his knees. His pleading is more earnest, but he still can’t seem to get enough breath behind his words to increase their volume.

Another slap. "Better. Again."

A lifetime of indulging his pride has finally come back to really bite him in the ass. The devil knows no humility, and thus he lacks the experience needed to be humble. He shuts his eyes briefly, and for the first time since before his fall, asks God for the strength to carry on. And, like he has since the fall, God remains silent.

Lucifer tries again, and fails again.

He doesn't know what he’s doing wrong. It seems that no matter what he says, or how he says it, it’s never good enough for Castiel. This goes on for a solid half an hour before Castiel finally takes enough pity on him to give him a hint as to the right way.

“You’re saying what you think I want to hear, Lucifer. That isn’t begging.” Castiel says softly, a cold hand on Lucifer’s reddened and burning cheek. “You must ask for my mercy, and convince me that another chance will not be wasted on you.”

The devil blinks, mumbles a weary “I understand. . . I think,” and looks down to consider the dilemma. Castiel’s mercy. Why _should_ Castiel show him mercy?

He’s silent for several minutes, wondering how he can convince Castiel that he’s on his side; that he hasn’t even once intended to betray him so far.

When he tries again, almost forty minutes have passed since he began, and his voice is quieter again, unsure. Castiel lets him go on for a few moments before he tells Lucifer to stop (but notably doesn’t slap him, this time). “Not quite, but that’s a step in the right direction. Don’t convince me. Convince yourself.”

The other's voice is softer now, coaxing Lucifer. Now, this feels less like a punishment, and more like an actual lesson. A lesson in humility, and Castiel is the devil’s teacher.

Lucifer remains silent, but Castiel lets the failure to acknowledge his words slide this time. He can tell that the fallen angel is doing as he asked, trying to wrap his mind around this concept he’s never even considered before.

An hour after they began, and Lucifer finally takes a deep, calming inhale. His voice is shakier now. “I can’t. I can’t convince myself that I deserve your mercy.” He no longer bothers to clasp his hands, burying his face in his palms. His eyes are dry, even though he feels like he wants to cry. He’s going to die here, alone and humiliated, known to the world only as the bug crushed under God’s heel. “By all rights, you should despise me. I’ve done nothing to earn good will with you. I’ve tried to blackmail you into betraying Heaven, killed you, hurt the people you care for, and so many other things that may not have directly affected you, but only serve as more proof that my values clash with yours.”

His eyes remain shut, holding back tears which refuse to form anyways. “My life is in your hands, and I don’t know how to convince you to let me keep it, because I can’t convince myself that if given the chance, I wouldn’t do it all over again. Logically, I know. . . I know that Father is supposed to always be right, and so I must be wrong by definition, and I know that maybe I haven’t handled my decisions very logically, but none of that matters to me. I’m just so. . . So _angry_ at Him, and I want to make him suffer for what He’s done to me. So maybe I. . . Maybe I don’t deserve a second chance. But I will say this in my defence. I’ve never hated you, and though I don’t agree with you on many things, I don’t wish suffering on you. Not like I do on Him. So, do what you wish with me, I accept my fate.”

Oh, if Father could see him now. How _low_ he has fallen.

God would disagree. Though it isn’t how He’d prefer it to be, Lucifer has finally grown, and he will be lifted up by the humility he has learned.

Castiel is silent for a moment, and then he squats down and cups a hand under Lucifer’s chin, tilting his head up to face him. He releases the elder’s chin when Lucifer’s eyes meet his.

 “And that, is humility.” Castiel finally spoke, pleased. It was unfair, how put-together and serene he looked now, while Lucifer was surely a mess, the corner of his mouth still producing a trail of blood, some of which has dried up by now, fresh bruises littering his face, and eyes red with unshed tears. Nothing was said for a moment, and then Castiel reached for Lucifer’s face again. The elder flinched, causing the younger to laugh darkly. “Relax, Lightbringer.” His hand cupped Lucifer’s jaw, and as he wiped the blood from the blonde’s chin, Lucifer felt the acing of his wounds fade to nothing. Castiel healed him completely, even the now-days-old bruise marring one side of his face, and then patted his cheek. “Better?”

The Archangel swallowed his sigh of relief as the hand drew back. “Yes.”

“Tch. Manners, Lucifer.”

The devil briefly shut his eyes. “Thank you, Castiel.”

A pleased hum preceded Castiel’s response. “There, was that so hard?”

“No.” Lucifer fought not to spit the word out, glaring at the roof he was still kneeling on. If only it would swallow him up and take him away from this nightmare.

He could hear the smirk in Castiel’s voice. “I knew you could do it. Now come, our brothers and sisters await us.”

Lucifer was glad to be leaving. “Of course.” He sticks to simple, short answers, hoping not to cause yet _another_ problem.

The two angels disappeared in a muted ruffle of feathers.

Neither of them paid any notice to the human who had been watching for the past fifteen or so minutes. Dean kept his eyes on the spot they had disappeared from for another moment before turning around and rubbing his neck. Whatever that was, he’s sure it wasn’t good.

Well, can’t worry about it now. He’s got a car in desperate need of fixing.

\- - -

Gabriel arrived just after Michael, and the two of them worked to collect their siblings. The ominous silence from Lucifer still had them worried.

As they worked, they would get an occasional, minuscule flash of pain or humiliation from the only Archangel not present, and each time they would trade a worried look with one another. However, as much as it worried them, it also gave them relief, knowing that at least their brother was still alive.

They had their family collected in the long-neglected choir hall before Castiel arrived about an hour later.

But when he did, it was with Lucifer on his heels. The elder’s muscles were tense and his eyes were downcast, but he appeared to be unhurt. Even his bruise from before was gone.

Castiel must have healed him, and the implications of that were more than worrisome. How badly was Lucifer hurt, that Castiel thought it prudent to heal him before dragging him here? Michael’s mind raced with all the possible reasons for Lucifer’s state of being.

Whatever the reason for it, the lack of fight in Lucifer’s stance and the docility of his bowed head spoke volumes. Michael immediately felt a surge of guilt.

Lucifer involuntarily reacted to that, glancing at his two brothers, but he quickly looked back at his feet. _‘ ‘Nothing happened that was your fault, Michael. Stop worrying.’ ’_ He didn't elaborate.

But something _did_ happen, and he didn’t attempt to deny it. He knew he couldn't hide all of his pain over their link. Perhaps, if he’d had more time to re-accustom himself with it, he might have. But as it was, he was still coping with too many things, and his focus surely slipped more than once.

Castiel stepped forward, and waved Lucifer off. The elder Angel took that as permission to join his brothers. As he got further from Castiel, the tension began to drain from his shoulders.

The Archangels tuned out Castiel’s speech. They’d already heard it. In Lucifer’s case, three times. Michael and Gabriel’s attentions were solely on their brother.

 _‘ ‘What kept you two?’ ’_ Michael asked gently, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Lucifer grimaced imperceptibly, eyes still fixated on the ground. _‘ ‘I guess you could call it “Training”. A better description would probably be the Leviathan. They happened.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Do I want to know what exactly that means?’ ’_ Michael prodded, watching Castiel as the younger spoke.

 _‘ ‘Mm, It means don’t piss him off.’ ’_ Lucifer responds after a short hesitation. _‘ ‘And he’s bound to realise what’s happening soon.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘What pissed him off? The dirt?’ ’_ Gabriel interrupted, still not sure how _dirt_ could have pissed him off.

 _‘ ‘No.’ ’_ Again, Lucifer didn't elaborate.

Michael took a gentler tone, trying to coax his brother into answering. _‘ ‘Then what was it?’ ’_

The younger’s response was surprisingly nonchalant. _‘ ‘Don’t patronise me, Michael. I kissed a demon, and he smelled the sulphur.’ ’_

It was all Michael could do not to turn and stare at his brother incredulously. Gabriel was on the verge of laughing. _‘ ‘You what?!’ ’_

_‘ ‘Oh, don't sound so surprised. He helped me out with the hellfire—’ ’_

_‘ ‘Wait, he?’ ’_ Michael interrupted, this time unable to resist shooting Lucifer a look of shock.

For his part, Lucifer didn’t appear ashamed. _‘ ‘Yes, He. Keep up, please. This isn’t the 16 th century anymore.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘How are we related?’ ’_ Michael lamented, earning a mental snort from Gabriel.

 _‘ ‘Technically, we aren’t, if it makes you feel better.’ ’_ The youngest chimes in. _‘ ‘We’re only brothers by association. So I could totally kiss Luce and it’d only be a little weird.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Mm. Tempting, but please don't.’ ’_ Lucifer dead-panned, his forked tongue unconsciously running over his bottom lip. _‘ ‘At least, not right now.’ ’_

Gabriel somehow managed to contain his mirth while Michael radiated disapproval.

After their conversation, Michael and Gabriel were reassured that Lucifer would be fine. He was probably only keeping up appearances for their crazed little brother.

It only occurs to Michael after-the-fact that Lucifer effectively dodged the question of what happened to him.

\- - -

Castiel dismissed the other angels after his speech, but held the Archangels behind to have a word with them. He started with Lucifer. “You may return to the Winchesters now.”

The Morningstar was all-too-happy to get away from his brother, and with a quick word of acknowledgement, he left. Castiel turned his attention to Michael. “You are no longer needed here. Go with Gabriel and assist him.”

Gabriel didn’t need to be told what his job was again. “Thanks, bro. The world’s a pretty big place for just one guy.”

Castiel nodded in agreement. "Which is precisely why I have you three.”

Michael and Gabriel disappeared, leaving Castiel alone in the empty choir hall; a place big enough to house the entire heavenly host. Castiel stayed for a bit, looking around thoughtfully and coming to the decision that his brothers were hiding something from him. He could always ask Raziel what it was. . . But there’s no guarantee that his brother will tell him, and he’s sure that the Angel of forbidden knowledge will know how to lie to him flawlessly. Too bad that his newfound power doesn’t allow him to read others’ minds. . .

He'll just have to find it out the hard way.

As he left, a grin of anticipation stretched his lips.


	6. Extra: Belial and Lucifer

[ ](http://orig06.deviantart.net/af73/f/2016/302/a/1/belial_and_luci_by_biagotmilkandjelly-damlkhz.png)

 

I doodled these losers on a sheet of notebook paper, which is coincidentally the overlay for this picture. Because I'm lazy and didn't want to shade.  
  
So, that's kind of what Belial looks like. If he were a cartoon. Lazy drawing is lazy.

I dunno, I just feel like Belial is the kind of attractive asshole that's allergic to shirts. And always wears sunglasses. His theme song is 'Sunglasses at Night'.

I also feel like he's totally Lucifer's biggest fangirl. Like, before the cage happened, and Lucifer was just milling around in Hell, Belial just followed him around. Everywhere. It was actually kind of embarrassing. Like, he'd be all "OMG HE'S SO PRETTY" and following Lucifer while Lucifer's trying to plot shit, and Lucifer would be like "Bruh, can you not??" so he'd stop, hang back for a little bit, but then just follow Lucifer from a little further away.

Until Lucifer eventually is like "Dude, okay, if you're just going to keep doing that no matter what I say, at least walk next to me so it's not as weird." But he doesn't feel like smiting Belial because Belial thinks he's pretty, and prideful as he is, Lucifer likes being told he's pretty.

And Belial is super-duper honoured to be allowed to walk beside THE Lucifer. He's beside himself with excitement.

And then they become besties. And Belial's the coolest of the archdemons because  _he's_ **_best friends_** with Lord Satan.

Which leads to Lucifer calling Belial for help when he needs a thing from hell in this fic.

I way over-thought this OC that's got like, five lines total.


	7. Operation: Sympathy for the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and for those wondering anything more about Belial, he's the demon at the beginning of Season 12, that Crowley killed. The one that was talking about having possessed a teenage girl?
> 
> Yep. Thaaaaaat's Belial. Loyal to Lucifer, to the end.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter~!

After over a week of working on-and-off on it, the Impala was finally operable again. Thankfully, he hadn’t needed to replace any model-specific parts, so he was able to salvage the parts he needed from the other cars in Bobby’s yard. All he had left to do now was scrape off the ruined paint, tape painting paper over the windows, and give her a new coat of paint. He should move her into the repair garage before he starts that, though. A little rain could screw up her paint job.

But that can be done later, preferably with some help. He’s spent enough time on her for today, and he really needs a cold drink and something to eat, so he heads back inside.

Dean almost didn’t notice Lucifer when he passed through the living room. Almost.

It seemed odd; the thus-far loud-and-obnoxious Angel being so quiet. So much so in fact, that the only reason Dean even noticed his presence was the ancient couch’s groan of protest as Lucifer switched from lying on his side to face-down. He looked miserable, his arms folded anti-socially around his head, and Dean immediately knew something was up. It probably had to do with whatever it was he and Castiel had been up to on the roof.

The hunter didn't do anything though, deciding that he probably needed back-up for this one. Bobby was in his office, and Sam was helping him. Now that Dean’s done with the Impala, it’s about time to get researching on the few hunts that they’d found over the past week. There was a huge vamp’s nest a few hours west that they’d known about for a while, and had been trying to get in contact with enough hunters to take on. A possible Wendigo on Mount Washington, about a day and a half’s drive up north. A ghost or two down south. Something he hadn’t figured out yet only a state over, in Wyoming.

Not really sure how to talk to Lucifer at the moment (Lucifer didn't seem much inclined to talk, anyways. . . So _weird_ ), Dean kept looking up stuff on that Wyoming thing, and checking out the lore for something that might match.

Lucifer, for his part, never moved. If Dean didn't know any better, he’d say the former-Archangel had fallen asleep.

About six or seven minutes went by, and no back-up arrived. Dean couldn’t focus on his research with Hell’s father on Bobby’s couch, so he closed Sam’s laptop and decided to start ‘Operation: Sympathy for the Devil’ on his own. (Sam refuses to call it that, but he’s a bitch, so he doesn’t count.) "Hey man, are you okay?"

He received a noncommittal grunt in response, followed by a relatively unconvincing “Yeah.” from Lucifer. Huh, is that how it sounds when he says ‘I’m fine’?

Dean set the laptop carefully on the coffee table. Sam would bite his head off if he treated it any less so. “Bull. What happened? I saw you and Castiel on the roof just before you left. What was that about?”

A growl. Lucifer turned his head in his arms just enough to shoot Dean a glare with one eye. “Last I checked, it was none of your fucking business, so keep your nose where it belongs. Since when do you give a damn, anyways?” He was probably going for ‘tough and intimidating’, but his body language and tone just came off as. . . Defeated.

Nevertheless, Dean had to consider Lucifer’s point. Why _should_ he share anything with the human who showed up purely to throw a wrench in the works in regard to his fight with Michael? And why _is_ Dean putting any effort into finding out what’s got his former enemy and current reluctant ally so down? Is it just curiosity? Or does he actually care?

The answer to the first question was easy; Lucifer shouldn't. He had no reason to open up. The answer to the second was less straightforward. A few seconds ago, Dean was only pretending to care because he had agreed to do so, along with Sam and Bobby. But now, Lucifer’s reluctance to open up reminded him—ironically—of himself. And when it was him, he had Sam, and Bobby, and plenty of other friends to pester him until he talked and felt better. Lucifer didn’t have that. He had brothers who he’d never really open up to (at least, Dean assumed that was the case, as Lucifer had killed Gabriel, and Michael was the one who cast him out of heaven), and demons who only revered him because of his terrifying power. So despite the past, Dean decides that yes, he actually does care, if only because it seems like no one else will.

But that was probably more sappy than Lucifer needed right now; not to mention, he likely wouldn't appreciate being compared to a human. Dean shrugs, meeting the glare head-on. “Maybe it’s not really my business, but I know first-hand that talking helps. And right now, we’re on the same side. So welcome to Team Free-will, buddy, where we eat junk food, fight monsters, and avoid talking about our feelings, but usually end up sharing anyways.”

That line earned a snort from the being across the room. Lucifer’s demeanour maybe softened up just a little, and he stopped glaring at Dean, but he still didn’t offer up an explanation for his behaviour.

Another handful of seconds passed before he realised that Lucifer wasn’t going to say anything. Dean took some initiative, prodding the devil again. “What did Cass make you do?” It was Castiel’s doing, it had to be. He was sure of it. Who else could have put Satan in this funk? Hell, he even saw them up on the roof, Lucifer kneeling for whatever reason. Dean can only imagine.

The glare returned, and he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. But before Lucifer could respond, he stiffened. “Speak of the devil. . .” Lucifer whispered as he quickly got to his feet, and Dean could swear there was a touch of apprehension that hadn’t been there before in the fallen angel’s voice.

Less than a second later, he saw the reason for Lucifer’s distress. Castiel arrived behind Dean silently, and if Lucifer hadn't sensed it, the hunter probably wouldn't have noticed. “Cass?” He was ignored.

“Brother.” Lucifer acknowledged, voice steady and fearless again. Maybe Dean just imagined the slight tremor. . .

“Brother.” Castiel returned the greeting, his own tone hard with suspicion. “You're hiding something from me.” He continued without preamble. “Michael and Gabriel are as well. I will find out what you are plotting, and you three will be punished accordingly.”

Maybe Dean just imagined that, too, but he’d swear that Lucifer flinched at the word ‘punished’. “We aren’t plotting against you, Castiel.” And this time, that normally arrogant voice was more subdued, and Dean would say, borderline timid.

Castiel fell silent for a brief moment, in which he scrutinised his brother. The air was thick with the tension as Dean waited for Castiel to call Lucifer out on the lie. Lucifer didn’t quail under the look he was given, standing his ground despite looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

After what felt like an hour, Castiel broke the tense silence. “. . . I believe you. For now. But there’s still something you aren’t telling me.”

Lucifer nods, not denying it. “There’s a good reason.” There was. Telling him about the Leviathan within him might piss the ancient being off and accelerate its growing control over Castiel. It’s better if the former Seraph realises it on his own, preferably away from them all.

The younger hummed thoughtfully, and Lucifer took it as acceptance of his answer. “Very well. I do hope, for your sake, that you aren’t trying to pull one over on me. Regardless, that isn't the point of this visit. I meant to ask before, what was the demon’s name?”

The relief Lucifer felt was short-lived. He didn’t answer right away, considering the many reasons Castiel would want to know such a thing. In the end, he decides to put-off answering. “Why does it matter?” As Gabriel said earlier, ‘Stalling for the win’.

Castiel's eyes narrow. “Lucifer, haven’t you tested my patience enough today?”

The tone of warning did nothing to deter the father of rebellion. “Perhaps, but I’m not going to sell out one of my children before you tell me what you plan to do with the information.”

Dean stood up between them, really fucking tired of being ignored. “Whoah, Whoah, hold on. Cass, you’re pissed off about Lucifer kissing that demon? Why do you even care?”

Castiel growled, and stomped his foot. The childish action did nothing to make his anger any less terrifying. “I will not be questioned! Dean, this does not concern you. Lucifer, _answer me_.”

Despite the warning to back off, Dean still cuts into the conversation, placing himself firmly between the two former Angels. “Bull. It does concern me. You’re forcing me to get buddy-buddy with your brother, so now his business is my business. Lucifer has a point. You want him to follow you unquestioningly, but you haven't earned that kind of blind trust from him, and you’re being completely unreasonable. Why does this demon matter? He didn’t hurt anybody, and knowing his name isn’t going to make him un-kiss Luce.” He paused, realising what he’d just done without thinking. Since when is the Devil-with-a-capital-D just. . . ‘Luce’? It takes Dean a second to shake it off and forge on. “So why do you need to know who he is?”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. It was likely only due to their strong friendship that Castiel didn’t just forcefully shut Dean up. As it was, the being narrowed his gaze and turned his anger onto the hunter. “Fine. You want to be involved? You get your wish. Tell me the hellspawn’s name, or _both_ of you will receive my wrath.”

An ultimatum. Well, Dean didn’t get this far without balls of steel. “Tell us why, and maybe we will.” He crossed his arms.

By this time, Lucifer had made his way to Dean's side. He'll be damned before he lets a _human_ protect him. “Take it down a notch, Hasselhoff.” He turned his full attention back to Castiel. “Please leave him out of this, he means well. And hear me out on this, I swear I’m not just trying to be difficult.”

The show of caution from Lucifer seemed to appease Castiel somewhat. While he _is_ much more touchy than normal since he juiced up. . . Castiel is still essentially a reasonable Angel. Especially since, not so long ago, he was in a similar position to Lucifer’s. After all, he’s fairly sure that after what happened earlier, Lucifer wouldn’t test him without good cause. “. . . Speak quickly.”

Lucifer gives a single nod before continuing with the explanation of his behaviour. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know you want to know the demon’s name so that you can punish him too. But, it’s not his fault. It’s only his nature to want such things, Castiel. And I created his kind, so any flaw of his nature is my own doing. He should not be punished for his nature.” Like father punished me for mine, goes unsaid but understood between them. “Not to mention, if I had denied him, he would not have pushed the matter. I take responsibility for the whole incident, and while he is likely guilty of a great many things, this is not one of them.”

The words have the desired effect. Castiel’s anger abates slightly as he sees Lucifer’s reasoning. “. . . That is. . . Surprisingly noble of you, brother.”

Dean has to agree. What the hell happened, to make this thus-far self-centred and kind of obnoxious Angel so. . . Reasonable and Responsible? If only Lucifer would extend that same loyalty to. . . Well, _anything_ other than his demons.

Whatever it was, Dean decides it couldn’t have been all bad if it affected such a positive change on him so quickly. Then again, it’s also likely what made the devil so miserable. . . So perhaps it’s not all good, either.

He gets a soft snort in response. “Don't get used to it.”

Lucifer gets a nudge from the human next to him. “Why not? It suits you.”

That isn’t deemed with a response, beyond an exaggerated eye-roll.

Castiel watches the exchange with faint amusement, but then eventually shakes his head. “I must agree with Dean, but however noble your reasons, it does not change my mind. I will know the name of this demon. Filth like that will not be allowed to touch what is mine. I must make an example of him. However, taking your protests into consideration, I will refrain from killing him, and I will pass along your sentiments.”

Arms crossed over his chest now, Lucifer’s expression hardened. “My mind is made as well, brother. Do as you wish, but I will not tell you his name.”

The sigh that followed seemed tired, but unsurprised. “Then I suppose I must pull the answer from you the hard way, Lucifer.”

Before Castiel could fully lift his arm, Dean interrupted. “Belial.”

Lucifer rounded on him with a glare that could melt steel. The soul-powered seraph lowered his arm with a nod. “Thank you, Dean.” And with a glance at Lucifer that said ‘I’ll deal with you later’, he flew off.

The devil looked like he wanted to pummel Dean to a pulp. “What the hell was that?” He was understandably upset. After all, Dean was the one preaching to him about not giving up just a few days earlier, wasn’t he? “So what was all that about throwing in the towel, and nobility? Does that bullshit only apply to me, or something?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to respond before railing on against him. “Oh, this is _exactly_ why I hate you humans. He _helped_ you, and this is the treatment you give him?”

“Lucifer.”

“You love to preach, and preach, and act like you’re all _so_ high and mighty, but you’re all just hypocrites!”

“Lucifer.”

“I swear, you’re all the fucking same—”

_“Lucifer!”_

Finally, Lucifer stopped talking long enough for Dean to get a word in.

“I didn’t want him to hurt you.” The hunter stated simply, meeting Lucifer’s ire with a steady gaze.

And just like that, the Archangel was speechless. He blinked twice, processing the unexpected sentiment.

Seeing that Lucifer wasn’t going to say anything any time soon, Dean continues. “Look, I don’t want you to give up. We’re still going to fight this shit situation, tooth and nail. But you did everything you could for Belial. Cass would have found out sooner or later, and nobody benefits from you getting beaten to hell and back in the process. Anyways,” and here, he gave the devil a sidelong look, “I’d say you’ve had enough for one day.”

After a quiet moment, Lucifer released a grudging sigh of acceptance. “You can say that again.”

That got him a companionable pat on the shoulder, and an encouraging smile. “Look on the bright side; Belial will be alive, and he’ll know you didn’t sell him out. He can be pissed at me. Lord knows enough demons hate my guts already, what’s one more?”

Lucifer shook his head in disbelief. “’What’s one more’, you say. One more _Archdemon_ , that’s what. You do know he actually controls an entire ring of hell, right? Unbelievable.”

“Is that concern I hear, Luce?” Even if he couldn’t see it clear as day on Dean’s face, the triumphant grin was practically audible.

The light shove to his shoulder made Dean laugh. “Fuck you.” It wasn't really a denial, though.

Yeah, maybe they can be friends. Dean’s not done with the serious moment quite yet, though. When Lucifer’s joking demeanour fades back to resemble the frustration of before, Dean speaks up again. “Hey, you don’t have to talk to me about whatever happened with Cass, I get it. Sharing isn’t fun. But don’t keep that shit bottled up just because you think nobody wants to hear it. For better or worse, we’re on the same side now, and that means you have people who give a shit about you. If you wanna talk, I’ll listen. If you just need something to hit, we’ll find a hunt. Deal?”

The extended hand was met with a look of suspicion. Dean left it there, waiting for Lucifer to decide how this will go. He’s giving the former Angel a chance, now it’s up to him to take it or leave it.

He only had to wait a few seconds. Lucifer took his hand and shook it, with a strange look on his face. Like he wasn’t totally sure if this was real or not. “Yeah, deal.” A hesitant pause. “. . . Thanks.”

Dean smiled and took his hand back. “You're welcome. Now, I hate to ask, but Bobby’s really itching to get this spell together already. Did you have time to pull some feathers?”

The response was quick. “Yeah, I did.” Lucifer appreciated the sympathy, he really did. But he’s not really the touchy-feely type. He’d rather get back to business as usual than this. . . Whatever was happening right now. Friendship? Maybe. Or, as close to friendship as the devil is capable of. He reaches into his (well, _Nick’s_ ) inside jacket pocket and retrieves the handful of nearly-forgotten feathers (was it really only just a few hours ago that he was grooming them out?) from it. Not wanting to risk dropping them, he made sure to press the feathers into Dean’s palm so the hunter could get a grip on them before he pulled his hand away.

A low whistle cut through the air between them as Dean caught sight of the thirty or so feathers Lucifer handed to him. Noticing that they felt light and soft, yet didn’t really bend or give much in his fist, he pulled one out of his handful to get a better look. “These are your feathers?” He glanced up at the Angel it came from, who nodded. “ _Awesome_.” Dean’s tone was appreciative as he held the one pinched between his fingers up to the light. “So falling didn’t ruin your wings at all, huh? I mean, I’m assuming. Since you can fly, and these look normal, I guess. Not burnt, at least. But I haven’t seen all that many Angel feathers. . .”

Oh, the ignorance of humans. Lucifer waited for Dean to finish rambling before he cut in with a terse correction. “My wings were a sort of opalescent white, originally. Or, well, not really, but opal is the closest thing you can comprehend, anyways. I’ve had a long time for them to heal since. . . Since then. They’ll never be quite what they used to be, though. . .”

Realising his mistake (it was kind of hard not to, with the obvious discomfort in Lucifer’s tone), Dean took a closer look at the feather and its rainbow-esque edging in the light coming from the window. “Huh. Well, original colouring or not, these are still hands-down the coolest feathers _I've_ ever seen. I’d stick with the black if I were you.” And with that bit of blatant brown-nosing, Dean went to put the fluffy-but-also-somehow-tough-as-iron things into his own coat pocket.

Lucifer didn't smile. He didn’t. (He did.) He’s not the least bit flattered. (He totally is.)

(The devil is just glad his wings are currently invisible, because he’s 9001% sure that they’re all fluffed up right now.)

Dean was stopped by the sounds of two pairs of footsteps. With the feathers still in hand, he turned around to find his brother and Bobby entering the room. “Where have you two been?”

“Basement.” Sam answered at the same time that Bobby said “Office.”

Dean immediately knew they were dirty lying liars. They totally just left him out here to deal with Lucifer and Cass on his own. High and Dry. All by himself.  Some ‘team’.

Lucifer seemed to also pick up on this, gracing Dean with the most infuriating look of amusement. Some ‘friend’. Asshole.

Under Dean’s highly judgemental glare, Sam broke first. “Okay, we’ve been in the hall since we heard raised voices. But you looked like you had it covered, Dean.”

"Abandoning your brother in his time of need.” Lucifer tsk’d, still half-smirking. “That’s cold, Sammy. Even for you. And what’s your excuse, old man?”

“Call me that one more time, boy. See what happens.” Bobby grumped, successfully avoiding the question. Lucifer didn’t pursue it, just giving a soft snort before he went back to occupying the couch, sprawling out on it like some kind of large, overly smug cat. Annoying as it is, it’s still better than the miserable sulking from before.

Dean handed Bobby the feathers in the same manner that Lucifer gave them to him. However, he did surreptitiously tuck the one he was marvelling at before away, into one of his many pockets. You never know when you’ll need one, y’know? (Yeah, right. He just thought it was pretty. Maybe he’ll add it to his keychain.)

The feathers were taken with a raised eyebrow. “. . . These ain't like any Angel feathers I’ve ever seen.”

An amused hum came from the man-shaped being on the couch. “Well. I'm not really like any Angel you’ve ever seen, am I?”

"Touché.” Bobby agreed, attempting to bend one of the feathers. “The hell is this made of? It won’t even bend. Are you sure they’ll burn?”

There was silence for a few seconds before Lucifer gave a kind of tired, long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, they’ll burn.” He tried not to take the thoughtless question personally.

Bobby didn’t seem to pick up on his own tactlessness. That, or he just didn’t care. “Great. Now, d’ya think you could lay off the localised winter thing? It’s supposed to be eighty degrees outside, and I need a goddamn blanket in here. I ain’t even running the A/C.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” The corner of Lucifer's lips twitched. “It’s not really something I can help, but if you let me beat you at chess again, I’ll make an honest-to-God effort, Singer, _sir_.”

The hunter huffed gruffly. “Cheat don’t start with a B, boy. You’re on.”

Lucifer touched the spot over his heart, pretending to be affronted. “Cheat? Who? Me? I _never_.”

"I'll catch ya this time, Lucifer.” Bobby assured him, gesturing to the well-used chessboard still laying out on the coffee table alongside the lamp full of hellfire. Lucifer got up from the couch to set it up for them.

He got a snarky grin in return. “You can’t catch me if I’m doing nothing wrong, old man. You’ll have to admit that I’m just better than you at _some_ point.” He opened up the cardboard chessboard and sat on the ottoman, leaving the couch for Bobby. He took blacks, as always.

The next question was directed at Dean, while the Archangel set the pieces up. “So, did you pick us out a hunt?” Sam sounded sceptical, not having a whole lot of confidence in his research-allergic older brother.

Research-allergic or not, Dean gets the job done. “A couple, yeah.” He gestured at Sam’s laptop, and the younger moved towards it. “But if Luce is game, I think we should just take on that vamp’s nest.”

Without turning his head or asking any questions about it, Lucifer chimed in. “I’m game.” There was a lull in the conversation as Bobby took his seat on the couch, and Lucifer put the last of the game pieces (a Lego Darth Vader standing in as his missing King) on the board. “White moves first, Singer.”

“I know, Idjit. Don’t rush me.”

Dean headed for the kitchen, deciding he needs a drink.

After finding out that they’ll be taking the Vampire nest, Sam started pulling up everything they had on it, trying to figure out just how large their area of influence is, etc.

A few minutes later found Dean watching Lucifer and Bobby’s game with a Budlight in hand.

Lucifer had lost more pieces than Bobby, but it was clear that despite that fact, he was the one controlling the board. Sure, he may have lost six pawns, a bishop, and a rook, but he’d already taken both Bobby’s Knights, two pawns, a rook, and looked to be closing in on the other’s Queen.

Unless Lucifer had somehow rigged it during the sixty seconds it took him to grab a beer, Dean hadn’t seen him cheat at all. Dean finds himself not really surprised that Lucifer’s just really good at Chess. He _is_ supposed to be a brilliant strategist, after all.

Dean saw what was about to happen just before it did and considered warning Bobby, but decided to just let it play out. Bobby wouldn’t appreciate the help anyways. Seeing an opening, the older hunter moved his Queen to safety, capturing Lucifer’s other rook in the process. Lucifer smiled to himself, and moved his own queen two spaces diagonal from Bobby’s King. The other spaces around the piece were either occupied by Bobby’s pawns, or reachable by his two knights and remaining bishop. The queen was safely out of reach from any of Bobby’s pieces. “Checkmate. I win again, Singer.”

"Balls. . ." Bobby frowned at his side of the board, knowing that he hadn’t looked away once, and frustrated that he hadn’t seen that manoeuvre coming.

Lucifer stood, victory grin in place. Maybe Dean just imagined it, but it seemed like the room warmed up a few degrees. “Maybe next time, old man.” He wandered over to the still-frosty window. “A promise is a promise though. No more indoor winter wonderland.”

Bobby got what he wanted in the first place, and that took a bit of the bite out of his loss. “I don’t know how you do it, boy. Good game.”

The devil smiled as he absentmindedly drew some symbol in the frost on the window with his finger. “Decades with nothing better to do than beat Michael at Chess and Poker, Singer.”

Sam looked up from his laptop. “Bull. Didn’t you say you two fought the whole time?”

He received a half-amused, half-tired snort. “Until Death broke in, yeah. He gave us chessboard, then told us to grow up and stop causing a racket.” He shook his head. “Told us he’d be back if we didn’t cut it out. I wasn’t about to cross that guy, and neither was Michael.”

“What about the poker? You can’t play that with a chessboard.” Dean asked, leaning against the wall behind him.

Lucifer raised a brow, made a deck of cards appear out of thin air, and then made them disappear again. “Archangel, Dean. Keep up.”

“Oh.” He frowned at the blonde. “But I thought your powers didn’t work inside the cage?”

The devil shook his head. “They work just fine, just not _on_ the cage. Or on anyone inside the cage. It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if you could die inside it, of course.” He sighs bitterly. “Enough about that place.” He kept working on his finger drawing. It turned out not to be a symbol, but instead seemed to be a drawing of someone’s face.

Their conversation died off for a while, during which Dean finished off his beer. Sam kept up the research, and Bobby put the chessboard away. The older Winchester tossed his empty beer bottle in the air a few times until he nearly dropped it on the coffee table. A look from Bobby, and he finally set the thing down.

"Sooo. . . Who’re drawing, Luce?" The portrait wasn’t exactly a Leonardo DaVinci, but it was by no means bad. If Dean knew the guy, he’d probably be able to tell that it was a portrait of him.

“Adam. The First Adam.” He replies nonchalantly, then stills his hand. There was a brief pause, and then he turned to Dean in order to ask the question that had been on his mind since just before Castiel left. “Why do you call me that now?”

The hunter heads back to the kitchen for a HotPocket. “What do you mean?” Shit. He noticed. Play it off as nonchalantly as possible.

“You know what I mean. ‘Luce’.” The devil wasn’t just going to let him play dumb. “What’s that about?”

“Uh.” Wow. Deja-vu. Dean disappeared into the kitchen, calling out his answer. “It’s a nickname. Y’know, like, a shortened version of your name?”

Sam and Bobby watch this exchange, trying to figure out what the hell got into Dean. He doesn’t give out nicknames just willy-nilly. Hell, he even called Bobby ‘Uncle Robert’ or ‘Mister Singer’ for a really long time. He interchangeably called Cass ‘Castiel’ and ‘that Angel asshole’ for months. People have to do something that really earns his respect/impresses him first. What did they miss?

There's a snort from the couch. "I _know_ what a nickname is, Dean. I want to know why you're giving me one. Is my name really too long? Are you just not so keen on the idea of someone overhearing and thinking you’re a satanist?”

Silence for a moment. They hear Dean start the microwave. “Why’s it gotta be a negative thing, Lucifer? Maybe I just like the way ‘Luce’ sounds. Maybe I just give nicknames to people I like. Maybe it’s just my way of welcoming you the team.”

Lucifer sat up to get a better look towards the kitchen entrance. He didn’t respond right away. “. . . You’re very strange, even by human standards. Not many people would be comfortable enough to give Satan a nickname.”

The microwave went off, and Dean responded jauntily as he pulled the Hot Pocket out. “Hey, Bobby said it first. You’re not so bad when you’re not trying to kill us or jump Sam’s bones. You’re actually kind of funny. Definitely not the worst Angel we’ve ever met. Not even close. Ever met Zachariah? Dude’s a grade-A douchebag. Well, _was_.” He shuts himself up by stuffing his mouth full of Hot Pocket.

Dean’s really got to stop saying nice things. He’s going to break Lucifer. The latter hasn’t ever experienced anything like this before, and it takes him a while to respond.

Sam's smiling knowingly. His brother certainly has a way of finding out exactly how to throw people off and push them out of their comfort zone. Having shared headspace with Lucifer for a time, he knows that the fallen angel doesn’t know what to do with this kind of treatment. His experiences with humans are limited at best, and his experiences with humans being kind rather than selfish, wrathful, hypocritical, prideful, or otherwise sinful are practically non-existent.

It wouldn’t be the first time that Sam’s considered the reason for Lucifer hating humans being due to him meeting all the wrong ones. And it won't be the last.

Take Belial for example. Lucifer seems to like him. And what exactly was his crime? He was unfaithful, perhaps. If you asked him, he’d probably say something like ‘he loves to love, because he has so much to give’. What he did was flawed, and very human, but not necessarily malicious. Belial is proof that Lucifer can like humans, given the right conditions. He seems to just have it in his head that since most of the humans he’s come across are irredeemably flawed, that all of humanity is naturally that way. And yeah, humans are inherently flawed, but there are also just as many good people as there are bad ones, if not more. It’s hard to say Humans are a mistake when you’ve met people like Dean and Bobby, or Jo, Ellen, Rufus, Jodi, Ash, or even Garth.

Finally, Lucifer recovers from what’s starting to feel like an onslaught of the-antithesis-of-everything-he-knows-about-humans. “Um, thanks. . . I think.” He sounds kind of lost, but when he speaks next, it’s with a little more conviction. “You’re not half-bad either. For a human.” And while just that much was hard for him to say, Lucifer knew it still wasn’t enough to express how much Dean really impresses him. “. . . I think, if more people were like you. . . The world wouldn't be such a bad place.” The words sound terribly awkward, coming from Lucifer himself. But he means them. He wouldn't say them otherwise, and everyone in the room knows it.

Stunned silence from the humans. Dean was standing in the doorway now, frozen in place, a corner of his Hot Pocket still in his mouth.

Lucifer considered leaving it at that. Surely, he’s made his point, if the priceless expressions on Sam and Bobby’s faces were anything to go by.

But no, he wasn’t done, not just yet. It would be wrong to accept the friendship Dean is offering without at least attempting to make amends for his past wrongs to the man. “And, I’m sorry about, you know, beating you to a pulp before.” And in his little brother’s body, no less. One of his hands flutters briefly in a show of his discomfort. “I think—how do you say it?—we got off on the wrong foot.” You see, Lucifer isn’t afraid to admit it when he’s wrong. He’s prideful, yes, and that often gets in his way, but he appreciates honesty and fairness above all, and when he believes he’s wrong, he’ll be the first to correct himself. (This is counterbalanced by the fact that he rarely gives anyone a _chance_ to prove him wrong.)

Thinking Dean is a good man is a step in the right direction regarding humanity. A small step, but a step nonetheless. Right now, he sees Dean as a very rare exception to the rule, but it will still open his mind up to the possibility of there being more exceptions, and, as long as they keep this up, eventually (hopefully) realising that there really _is_ no rule when it comes to humans, and that, _that_ is what makes Humanity so special.

The room was silent.

Sam is probably the most shocked. Lucifer, apologising? He would never have thought it possible. Dean is a close second, with Bobby already recovering. The older hunter has seen a lot of shit in his life, and even Satan himself apologising to a human won't faze him for long.

Lucifer, for his part, was watching Dean intently. Like the hand Dean had offered him, he was extending an olive branch and leaving it out for Dean to take or leave.

Dammit. He shouldn’t have taken a bite of the Hot Pocket. Now he’s got burning-hot microwaved Philly cheese steak in his mouth. Swallowing it is basically suicide. Spitting it out would be gross and rude. Especially when Lucifer just said _that_. Seriously, what was _that_ about? Dean is like, the worst person he knows. And what, he gives the guy a nickname, officially welcomes him to the team, and compliments his (totally badass, by the way) feathers, and now Lucifer thinks he’s like, the paragon of humanity? Has everyone else he’s met just been slightly more evolved pond scum? . . . Well, considering he mostly knows humans through his demons. . . Probably.

It’d be funny if it weren’t so freakin’ sad.

Dean risks swallowing the Hot Pocket. The heat brings tears to his eyes. Fuck. “Um. Thanks.” He shifts awkwardly on his feet, vividly remembering the relentless beating and insults spewing from his brother’s lips. The next part would be hard. “And. . . I forgive you.” And strangely, he did. He understood now, why Lucifer was so angry. It wasn’t a mindless, monstrous, unreasonable anger like he had originally thought. He still didn’t think Lucifer was right to try to destroy the world, but he understood where the ex-Angel was coming from. He knew about sucky parenting, miscommunication, and family feuds better than most, after all. “I think you’re right, about the wrong foot thing. Dire circumstances, and all that. So, bygones?”

Slowly, the ex-Morningstar nods. “Yeah. . . Bygones.” He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Huh. So that’s what forgiveness feels like. It feels. . . Good. Cleansing.

But that apology also just made his itch to hit something even worse. He forces a light cough. “You said something about vampires?”

“Oh, yeah.” It was Sam who answered him. Everyone seemed relieved to change subjects. “So get this. Not too far from here, some fangs set up shop. They’ve been raiding the town, first drinking people to within an inch of their life, then turning them before they can die. We know there’s at least thirty Vamps there, maybe more. We only know because one of the victims got away and filed a police report here. Jodi told us about it. We were trying to get a bunch of hunters together to take this nest on, but if you’re going to come, we probably don't need to.”

“Only thirty?” Lucifer actually sounded disappointed. “It’ll be a piece of cake. When do we go? And where to?”

Before Sam could answer, Dean cut him off. “We’ll go first thing in the morning. And you’ll find out when we get there. I don’t fly angel airlines.”

Sam half expected the Angel to say something scathing, but instead, Lucifer just restarted on his window drawing with a put-upon sigh. “But cars are so _slow_.” The devil protests, pulling a face at the mere thought of spending time in a _car_. “Do you really want to spend _hours_ in a car together? I’m not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment yet, Dean.”

The elder Winchester snorts at the fallen angel's antics. "It's not _hours_ , you baby. It’s two, max. And yes, that sounds way better than your damn _flying_.”

Anyways, they’ll need a way to get back home in case Cass shows up to make good on his unspoken promise to deal with Lucifer. Or just to drag him off somewhere. Dean would rather not end up stranded in Vamp-City without transportation.

“Et tu, Brute?!” Lucifer’s attempt at an English accent is obviously meant to be more comical than serious. His hand covered his heart dramatically.

The eye-roll is practically audible. “We’re _driving_. If Cass can do it, so can you. Man up, Luce.”

Another long-suffering sigh. “ _Fine_. But I call shotgun.”

Sam, who had until now been quietly watching the somewhat surreal exchange, suddenly jerked to attention. “Wait, what? No way! That’s my spot, right Dean?”

The older brother shrugged, fighting a grin. “You know the rules of shotgun, Sammy. He called it.”

The younger turned to Bobby for help. “Don’t look at me, boy. Ain’t my call.”

A sing-song voice cuts in. “If it bugs you so much, just say the word. I don’t mind _sharing_ , Sam.” Lucifer didn't bother to hide the half-assed attempt at getting Sam to say yes for what it was.

That only gets him a glare in response. “Hell no.” Sam turned back to Dean, who shook his head, half-amused. “. . . Jerk.”

“You snooze you lose, bitch.” He turned to leave the room, finally getting a chance to finish eating the cooling Hot Pocket in his hand. “Anybody wanna help me move Baby into the garage?”

“I’ll help, just give me a minute to take this stuff to the basement.” Bobby inserted, grabbing the hellfire lamp and also turning to go. He was pleased with the progress Dean’s made regarding Lucifer. The future is looking up.

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean nods, then glances expectantly at the other two.

Lucifer shrugged. “Sure, I’ll come out in a minute.”

“I’m going to grab some food first.” Sam told his brother, and then with a nod and a quick ‘thanks’ from Dean, was left alone with Lucifer. He had absolutely no qualms about ditching the smug Angel lounging on the recliner to go get something to eat.

Said angel was content to chill out there until the Sam and Bobby were ready to head out. He didn’t need the rest, physically, but after the day he’s had, a moment of relaxation is probably a good idea.


	8. Hello, CPS? This is Gabriel the Archangel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an Early update because the amazing [Deja Vu 22](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7725959/Deja-Vu-22) finished the oneshot prompt I gave her~! Check out her story ["Shachar, the mini-Dean, AKA Lucifer"](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12217258/1/Shachar-the-mini-Dean-AKA-Lucifer), it's AMAZING. Really. Read it. It's sooooo good.
> 
> Annnnnd without further ado, the next chapter, for your pleasure.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? You’re trespassing, that’s what! Get off my damn property!”

This moron. This. This is the kind of person that gives humanity a bad name. This is the kind of person that pisses Gabriel off.

The younger shared a look with his older brother, who was watching the man with an air of distaste and astonishment.

Michael had seen all manner of scum today, but Gabriel thinks this is the worst kind. In one hand, he had a mostly-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. In the other, he had his belt, which they had just caught him using on his eight-year-old son.

“Child, please go to your room.” Michael intoned, fighting the urge to smite the drunkard in front of him.

The young boy hesitated, looking at his father for approval first. Poor kid. Seeing the growing rage, however, the boy appeared to decide his chances of survival were better if he ran for it. Nursing his bleeding (and possibly broken) nose, he bolted off.

“Ey, get back ‘ere, boy! I didn’t say you could leave!” The man (if you can call him that) started off towards his son, too drunk to really be concerned about the strangers in his house. “I swear, if you don’t get back here right now, I’m goin’a whup your ass so red you won’t be able’ta sit on it for weeks!” He started off in the boy’s direction, but Michael grabbed his shoulder and flung him into the nearest wall.

The human blinked sluggishly, stupidly, and faced Michael’s heated glare uncomprehendingly. The Angel released a low, involuntary growl. “It’s not for you to decide his fate any longer. You lost that right when you abused him, and when you abused your privilege as a father.”

Gabriel hung back, watching how Michael goes about handling this case. The Archangel in question flared his wings out wide, showing off his enormous six appendages in the form of shadows behind himself.

Thunder rumbled.

The man cowered.

Michael took the belt from his hand, and with a snap, it tightened itself around the terrified, drunk-off-his-ass human’s neck. “You will no longer have the privilege of calling yourself a father or a husband. Now, your only title will be ‘Demon’. I banish you to the pits of perdition.”

The scumbag’s eyes bugged out as the belt tightened further, completely cutting off his air supply. The man grasped at his neck in an ineffectual attempt to relieve the pressure. Before he could die, Michael waved his hand, simultaneously burning all the man’s sins into his skin, causing him immense pain before he finally expired. He didn't even have enough air in his lungs to scream.

Largest of all the words on his body was 'Child Beater’, burned into his chest hot enough to turn the fabric of his shirt there into ash.

Silence. Michael glared at his handiwork. Gabriel pursed his lips critically.

Eventually, the latter Angel input his opinion. “Eh, not bad. A little heavy on the whole ‘God and glory’ bit, but that’s not important.” He waved his hands expressively. “Nice touch, with the sins. I’m totally using that one. I’d say you’re good to go on your own, now. We can split up, unless you want to stick with me a bit longer.”

The elder Angel shook his head in response. “I will be fine on my own from now on. Keep in touch with me, though. We should check up on Lucifer too, we haven't heard anything from him for a while.”

Gabriel nodded in agreement. “Sure thing, bro. But . . . Maybe give Lu some space. I know you’re worried, and this is the first chance you’ve had to just be his big brother since he fell, but you have to remember that he _is_ capable of handling himself just fine, and won't appreciate having mama-bird Michael fretting over him every five minutes.” Gabriel by no means liked saying it, but he felt that it really did need to be said. “You’ve made your position pretty clear. Let him come to you, okay?”

This suggestion was taken with more than a little scepticism. “You _know_ how stubborn our brother is. . . If I don't do something now, how do I know he won’t just go right back to the fighting when this is over?”

“Look,” Gabriel put a hand on his brother’s shoulder patiently, “you’re not gonna fix this in a day. Smothering him certainly isn't going to improve anything. Now, I want you two to reconcile more than anybody, so I'm not just telling you to back off for the heck of it.” Seeing that this explanation isn’t getting his point across as much as he had hoped, Gabriel switched tactics. “Look at it this way. When Luci rebelled, he didn’t even come and talk to you, or me for that matter, and he didn’t give any obvious indication that he wasn’t happy. You know why?”

Michael shook his head.

This was the answer he expected. “Right, well, he did that because he assumed that we’d condemn him for his point of view. And to some extent, he was right about that. But you still wish he’d said something to you first, right? So you could have at least tried to reason with him, talk him out of what he did?”

The elder nodded slowly, still not sure where Gabriel was going with this. “Yes. . .”

“Okay.” The voice of God put his hands up in the universal gesture for ‘hold that thought’. “So the thing is, back then everything was ‘dad’s way or the highway’, okay. Even _thinking_ anything different was basically treason, and you were dad’s super cop. So you didn’t exactly make yourself available for Luci to talk to about that kind of thing. Not to mention, you two got into fights over just about _everything_. But he was still closer to you than he ever was to Raphael or I, so if he couldn't go to you about it, how could he possibly go to us?”

A shrug. Michael seemed pretty lost by this point.

That was the reaction Gabriel was going for. “Right? He _couldn’t_.” Gabriel’s tone told the elder that he was getting to the point now. “But everything’s different now. I saw in Cassie’s memories that he tried to get you to call off the fight, remember? The only reason I can figure for that, is Dad’s gone. He’s mad at _Dad_ , not us, or even humans, really. He only wants to destroy everything to get back at the person who created it. But if God’s gone and doesn’t give a shit anymore, what’s the point of tearing it all down? The only reason he still fought you, is because you wouldn't back down. Let me take a shot in the dark here. You two didn’t look like you were really at each other’s throats when Castiel brought me back. Just a guess, but you were the one who called off the fighting in the cage, right? Figured out that you weren’t getting anywhere, or accomplishing anything, and told Luci you wanted to stop, right?”

Now, Michael was starting to catch on. Still, he had to shake his head for that one. “That was Death’s doing, actually. He showed up to rescue Sam, and told us to cut it out or he’d come back. Apparently the racket we were making gave him a headache. The cage prevented our deaths anyways. . . So we called a sort of truce.”

The younger nodded, pursing his lips slightly. Not exactly what he had guessed, but it still works. “Okay. But I'm guessing, now that you’ve had Luci back this long, you don't really want to fight him anymore?”

Guilty nodding. “But unless he repents. . . Father gave me orders. . . I have to.”

“Screw dad’s orders.” Gabriel asserted firmly, causing Michael to blink in mild shock. “Dad’s gone. He doesn't care anymore. Anyways, do you really think that he’d rather you fight Luci and destroy half the world in the process? Or do you think he’d rather you two grow up and get over this _stupid_ feud?” He doesn’t give Michael a chance to answer. “Dad’s _always_ been about love and forgiveness. So don't try to tell me that he’d rather see you two fight than see you get along for once. It seems to me that Lucifer _wants_ to end all this, in his own stubborn and roundabout way. He’s already tried to end it once, and _you_ insisted on duking it out. Now that you’re on the same page with the whole if-dad-isn’t-here-this-whole-end-of-days-shit-is-pointless thing, and he knows it, all you have to do is keep up the supportive-but-not-pushy brother thing, and he’ll come to you again.”

There’s a pause as Gabriel allows Michael to process what he’s trying to say.

“Lucifer has to be the one who comes to you. It’s the only way the problem will ever be really solved. You may have done your part to escalate the situation, but when it all comes down to it, he started it. So for him to be satisfied, _he_ has to end it, or he won't feel like any forgiveness he gets will really be earned. It all comes down to one little thing, really.” Gabriel says vaguely, waiting for Michael to ask him to elaborate.

It doesn’t take long for the other’s curiosity to get the better of him. “ _What_ little thing?”

Gabriel lifts a finger to assist in making his point. “You don't understand each other’s priorities. Just like how Lucifer never factored in that you love him when he went ahead and rebelled without ever talking to you. Just like you aren’t factoring in that Lucifer loves you when you assume that he’ll just want to go back to fighting you when Castiel’s kaput.” His thumb made a slash across his throat to illustrate. “You both always get so caught up in your own black-and-white view of things, that you forget that you’re _brothers_ , and that means more than any stupid fight that neither of you really wants. You both need to see the grey area, or you’re always going to be at each other’s throats.”

Michael blinked once, and tried to let that soak in. It was hard. Really fucking hard. He’s not really sure if he fully understood what Gabriel was trying to get at, but he thinks he understands the gist of it. “. . . So basically, I just have to wait it out and wish really hard that Lucifer will call off the fight again?”

The younger nods. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Father help us.” The first Angel shook his head incredulously. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Only because I don't have any better ideas.”

A grin broke out on the shorty’s face. “That’s the spirit! Now go forth, dear brother, and smite all the sinful human scum.”

Michael's eyes fell back to the grotesque corpse at his feet. "Ooh. What fun.”

When the elder looked back at Gabriel, the younger had an oddly serious expression on his face. “Hey, um. I know I kinda bailed on everyone. . . And maybe I'm not exactly your favourite brother right now. . . But I want you to know, it means a lot to me, that you and Lucifer are trying to make things right. I miss the way things used to be.”

Recognising that this was a rare moment of naked honesty for the younger but more world-weary Archangel, Michael decided to answer with some caution. “Gabriel, don't talk like that. You didn’t. . . ‘ _Bail_ ’ on us, I failed you as a brother. After Lucifer fell and Father left, I pushed you and Raphael away, and that was wrong of me. I wish. . . If I could change one thing in the past, it would be that. I would have done more to keep what was left of our family together.”

"Not casting Lucifer out?" Of course that would be his question.

The elder shook his head. “No. If I had rebelled also, Father would have had to cast us both out. And I think it hurt them both enough just for Him to have me cast Lucifer down. If he had to cast out both of us. . . It would have broken his heart, I think. Not to mention Lucifer. . . Sometimes I think it’s better for him to know I cast him out because Father loved him too much to do so Himself.”

"That. . . Actually makes a lot of sense. How introspective of you, bro." Gabriel nods slowly, nudging his brother.

He shrugs in response. "I've had ample time to dwell on such things.” Michael sighs, deciding they’ve dawdled long enough. “I will leave brother alone for now. But you better keep in touch, I’m not going to stop mother hen-ing _you_ any time soon, little one.” He ruffled the shorter one’s golden mop of hair before taking off with a brief wave.

Gabriel rolled his eyes at the fond moniker from way back when he really _was_ little. From before there were angels to be smaller than himself; a pet name from better times. It brings a smile to his lips as he flies off in search of another corrupted soul to vanquish.

\- - -

That evening found Dean and Bobby looking over the freshly covered Impala, all ready to be painted. Bobby had just returned from inside, where Sam was dozing off at the kitchen table, and Lucifer was watching the television at a volume only he could hear.

The older hunter handed Dean one of the two bottles of Budweiser in his hand. “She’s looking good. . . Considerin’.”

Dean took the offered beer with a snort of agreement. “Considering? I should do this professionally.”

Both men worked the tops off their bottles. Bobby pauses before drinking his. “So. . . Seen Sam lately?”

Dean arched an eyebrow at him. Well, duh. “Yeah, why?” Bobby didn’t answer right away, just giving him a ‘look’. “What?” Nothing. “Well, spit it out.”

Bobby briefly glanced heavenward. “How is that kid even vertical? I mean, Cass broke his dam piñata. And with Lucifer here. . .”

“I know.” Dean cut him short, walking away and towards his paint-free car.

The old man wouldn’t be deterred so easily. “I mean, I get how he came to help us at the lab. Adrenaline. Sure. But, now?”

His concern was met with a surprisingly easy-going tone. “Well, he says he’s okay.”

“How?” Bobby pressed, ever the voice of incredulity.

“I don’t know.” Dean had a tape measure in his hands. “I just pray to God it’s true.”

Well, there’s no arguing with that, really. “We need to come up with a new saying for that.” Bobby laments, wishing he could read Dean’s thoughts. Why he’s suddenly okay with Sam just pretending to be fine, Bobby won’t understand.

\- - -

Inside the house, Sam jolted awake from a horrible nightmare. He hadn’t even realised he was asleep until he woke up, back in his seat, the chain no longer wrapped around his neck, and able to breathe again.

Shaking slightly, he took in his surrounding, maintaining a silent mantra to remind himself; it wasn’t real, he was only dreaming, he’s safe.

It didn’t help much, and he looked around frantically for someone he recognised. “Dean? Bobby?”

To his horror, and near-demise by heart attack, the laughing voice from his hallucination answered. “They’re in the Garage, Sam.”

He turned around to see Lucifer staring at him from the couch with some degree of concern in his expression.

Right, Lucifer’s their house-guest. He’ll never get used to that.

"Thanks." He replied quickly, and then promptly stood, making his way outside.

Lucifer watched him leave, the hunter rubbing his bandaged hand as he tried not to run.

As Sam neared the garage, he could hear his brother and Bobby talking to each other.

“Seriously, though, Bobby. I mean, look at our lives. How many more hits can we take? So if Sam says he’s good, he’s good.” Sam hesitated just short of walking inside. They’re talking about him . . . ?

“You really believe that?” Bobby rebuked, taking a swig of his beer.

“Yeah.” Dean replies jauntily, in a tone that might’ve convinced anyone else that he meant it. Sam and Bobby knew better. “. . . No.” But he wasn’t done talking, so Bobby waited for him to continue. “You want to know why? Because we never catch a break, so why would we this time? But just—just this one thing, you know?” He looked at the roll of tape in his hands forlornly. “But I’m not dumb. I’m not gonna get my hopes up, just to get kicked in the daddy pills again.” The roll of tape is set on the workbench next to him.

Before the conversation can be continued, Sam decides he's heard enough, and finally makes his entrance. “Hey.”

Bobby looked at Dean. Dean Looked at Bobby. Bobby looked at Sam with a convincing smile. “Well, how ya feelin’, sport?”

His smile was returned with an equally sincere one. “Can’t complain.”

“Great.” Dean interjects, walking towards his brother. “What’s the word?”

“Well, a publishing house literally exploded about an hour ago.” Sam recounted the latest bit of news that had popped up on his laptop. “Guys, the body count is really getting up there. We gotta do something.”

“We are doing something.” Bobby reminds him. “I’d _like_ to hunt this sonofabitch, but unfortunately I’ve lost my God-gun, so we’ve got to stick with this cockamamie plan you three put together.”

"I know, Bobby. I know.” Sam agrees grudgingly, sighing softly. “I just wish we had something more sure than this. Maybe something from Balthazar’s arsenal, I mean, _something’s_ got to hurt him.”

Dean obviously didn't like this turn in the conversation. He hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. “He’s God, Sam. There’s nothing.” The elder dusted his hands off and walked past his brother towards the house. “Get some sleep, we’ve got a rough day ahead of us.”

\- - -

One night, 97 dead assholes, and 26 warning shots later, Gabriel noticed a strange buzzing over Angel radio. Not an unpleasant buzzing. . . The kind that they get when someone is letting their positive emotions bleed through. They’ve noticed that Lucifer in particular tends to do this, probably because he hasn’t needed to restrain his emotions for a long while. And. . . Yep, that was definitely him. It was strange though, not a brief pulse of enjoyment, it was almost rhythmic. . .

Michael figured it out before he did. _‘ ‘Lucifer, are you singing?’ ’_

The pulses of happiness abruptly cut off. _‘ ‘. . . No.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Holy crap, you totally are.’ ’_ Gabriel grinned at the flash of annoyance that earned him. _‘ ‘Which song?’ ’_

A long-suffering sigh had Gabriel giggling to himself again. _‘ ‘If you must know, it’s called “None of your damn business”, by “Fuck off, Gabriel”.’ ’_

If anyone were around, they’d probably think Gabriel was deranged for snickering over the brainless and dickless corpse of an asylum’s head ‘doctor’ who took advantage of the mentally handicapped and senile people in his care sexually.

 _‘ ‘We can hear you laughing, Gabriel.’ ’_ Came Michael’s amused admonishment.

That did very little to help the younger recover. _‘ ‘Oh, c’mon, bro. We aren’t going to make fun of you. Really, what song was it?’ ’_

The silence was almost long enough to make Gabriel think Lucifer was just ignoring them now. _‘ ‘. . . Knocking on Heaven’s door. Go ahead, laugh.’ ’_

Gabriel didn’t laugh. _‘ ‘Hey, that’s a good song. Felt like you were really into it, too. I take it you’re having fun with the Winchesters now?’ ’_

Relief. _‘ ‘Eh, you could say that. They won’t let me fly them to this vampire nest, so we’re using what I’m convinced is the **slowest**_ _car in existence, since Dean’s is still little more than scrap metal. I’m having about as much fun as I can while dying of boredom. How are things on your end?’ ’_

 _‘ ‘I’m ahead of Gabriel 111 to 97 on asshole smiting.’ ’_ Michael input smugly.

 _‘ ‘Nice. You're getting beat at your own game, little brother?’ ’_ There was a tickle of laughter in Lucifer’s tone.

 _‘ ‘Twenty of those don't count, Mikey! I was teaching you!’ ’_ the younger protests, taking off to look for another victim.

 _‘ ‘I’m_ not _counting those ones, brother dear.’ ’_ Michael is laughing at him. He’s sure of it. Ass.

 _‘ ‘I let twenty-six people off with a warning, too.’ ’_ He added after a second. _‘ ‘Conversions should count as double.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘They count for nothing, because Cassie told you to kill them, if I remember correctly.’ ’_ Came Lucifer’s amused rebuttal.

Gabriel scowled at nothing. How is Michael ahead of him? _‘ ‘Hmph. It's not a contest, anyways. I don't even want to do this.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘You know who else says “it’s not a contest”, Gabriel?’ ’_ Lucifer’s too-gleeful tone told Gabriel he was about to be mocked. ‘ ‘ _Losers and quitters. Are you one of those?’ ’_

Gabriel’s answer was interrupted when Michael piped up with a cheerful;  _‘ ‘A hundred and seven!’ ’_

The younger’s scowl deepened. _‘ ‘Hell no. Watch out, Mikey, you won't have that lead for long.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘May the best Angel win, little one.’ ’_ Ugh. This would be more satisfying if Michael weren’t such a good sport.

 _‘ ‘Beat him for me, Gabe!’ ’_ Lucifer cheered. Nope. He’s not playing favourites. Not at all.

The younger’s scowl lessened as he found a small group of terrorists in Syria. _‘ ‘Sure, bro. Challenge Accepted. Anyways, I kinda have to, since you obviously can't do it.’ ’_ He teased, landing in front of the six men and startling them.

This one would be simple. Without a word, he flew the men somewhere visible, but without a lot of people around, and killed them with their own explosives. On top of their remains, he dropped a rock that read “Thou shalt not kill” in all the world’s most prominent languages, but first in Arabic. He can already see the headlines. Ha, top that, Michael.

That was about the time that Lucifer managed to stop being too pissed off to speak. ‘ ‘ _Say that to my face, midget.’ ’_

‘ ‘ _Can’t~’ ’_ Gabriel sang back, taking flight once more. ‘ ‘ _Too busy whupping Michael’s scrawny pretty-boy ass. A hundred and three!’ ’_

Michael, who had been quietly laughing to himself up to now, suddenly stopped doing so. _‘ ‘I’m still ahead!’ ’_

The younger Angel laughs, flying up high to search for more especially dark souls. _‘ ‘Not for long, brother. You better get your butt in gear if you want to beat the master.’ ’_

Lucifer was grudgingly amused now too. _‘ ‘Keep it up, Gabe. And I can totally kick Michael’s ass, don't you forget it.’ ’_

‘ ‘ _At Poker, maybe.’ ’_ Michael teased lightly.

 _‘ ‘Ha! Did you actually beat him at poker? Now that, I’d like to see.’ ’_ Gabriel found a good place and dropped to the earth again. When Lucifer didn’t answer him, he decided it was okay to poke the bear. _‘ ‘Well, if you don't want to talk to us, why don’t you just go back to singing with your new human friends?’ ’_

_‘ ‘. . . Forgive me Father, for I am about to murder Gabriel. Again.’ ’_

_‘ ‘Lucifer!’ ’_ The reproach in Michael’s tone was even funnier to Gabriel than the idle threat.

_‘ ‘Relax, bro. He doesn’t really mean it. Luci’s just salty because Castiel got to be God before he did.’ ’_

_‘ ‘Call me Lucy again. You’ll find out just how much I mean it.’ ’_ The annoyed Archangel in question growled back.

_‘ ‘Please. You like my nicknames, Luci-lu.’ ’_

_‘ ‘It’s a girl’s name!’ ’_

_‘ ‘Well, you **are**_ _a total diva.’ ’_

_‘ ‘That’s it. Where are you?’ ’_

_‘ ‘Hey, you know what’s **really**_ _funny, Lu?’ ’_ Gabriel continued as if he hadn’t heard the question. _‘ ‘If you’d just have waited, and been a good son, Dad probably would have **given**_ _you Heaven when he left.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Brothers, will you **please**_ _cease your bickering?’ ’_ Michael requested wearily, then added almost as an afterthought. _‘ ‘One hundred and eight.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘He started it.’ ’_ Lucifer shot back childishly. Neither of his brothers deemed the excuse with a response.

Gabriel set the abused animals at a product testing plant loose, granting them enough strength to tear apart the people who had been abusing them. He counted them off as they died. ‘ ‘ _One hundred and four. . . One-O-five, One-O-six. . . Ooh, ouch. One-O-seven, One-O-eight. . . One hundred and nine. . ._ ’ ’

Michael muttered competitively to himself, and Gabriel could tell his brother was regretting challenging him to a game he’d literally invented.

Lucifer didn’t add anything else to the conversation. Gabriel guessed he finally pissed the elder off enough to get the silent treatment. He really is _such_ a girl.

It’s fine, Lucifer will miss him eventually. He always does. Or _did_ , anyways. Now, he isn’t so sure. Lucifer’s changed a lot.

Hell, all of them have changed a lot. Even Michael, the metaphorical marble foundation of their family. And yet, right now, with a common cause to unite them. . . Everything seems to have fallen into place again, like the pieces of a puzzle that had been waiting far too long to be reunited.

With a sigh, he granted each of the animals a halo of holy light, so all who saw them would know they had Heaven’s favour. The chimpanzees, dogs, pigeons, rats, and singular mountain lion immediately calmed down, becoming docile and relaxed with the holy blessing. Gabriel gave the lion a quick scratch behind the ears before moving on.

Despite his previous claims and the questionable morality of all this, Gabriel was enjoying himself. This was his element, his game. Whether Castiel had enlisted his help for it or not, this is probably what he’d be doing anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again guys, you should check out [Deja Vu 22](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7725959/Deja-Vu-22)'s story ["Shachar, the mini-Dean, AKA Lucifer"](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12217258/1/Shachar-the-mini-Dean-AKA-Lucifer), if you want a link to it, she reviewed this story, so you can get to her profile more easily from the review section. (And maybe leave a review of your own while you're there?) And she's written two more stories for Supernatural, both of which are _beautiful_.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Keep your eye out for the next chapter~! (At the latest, the Saturday after next. At the earliest, whenever Deja Vu 22 finishes the next prompt I give her!)
> 
> Have a great day! Reviewers get to sing a duet with Lucifer~!


	9. Deus ex Machina

The Vampire hunt went well. Save for a minor hiccup at a gas station just outside of town, it was smooth going. Bobby’s spare car came out with a few scratches, but that was the worst of it. Lucifer enjoyed fighting the creatures with just his bare hands and inhuman strength, handicapping himself to make their deaths more satisfying. If he’s being honest, Dean thought it was kind of glorious. Lucifer was in his element, even laughing as the fangs ran away from him, only for him to teleport into their path. Dean and Sam had never seen Vampires taken down so easily.

Any of the monsters that tried to escape by getting through the boys got its head machete’d off.

One bloodsucker got her head punched clean off, another was straight-up torn in half (I don't care what the hell you are, you don’t get up from being torn in half), a third got a fist-sized hole in the head.

Lucifer didn’t fight. He _danced_ amongst his enemies. He moved with the fluidity and speed of a snake, the strength and poise of a lion, and the grace of an angel. Even without a weapon and avoiding the use of his powers, he bested all his ‘dance partners’ with terrifying ease.

Dean is suddenly inspired to thank God that he’s on their side.

Sam called shotgun for the ride back, which was fine with Lucifer, since he decided he’d rather just fly ahead than take the long way back. He told them to shoot him a prayer if they ran into trouble, and then with a swish of feathers, the blood-covered ex-angel was gone.

Hm, Bobby was going to just _love_ the mess Lucifer was about to track through his house.

Sure enough, when they got back just before sundown, Lucifer was soaking wet and relaxing in a car outside, but free of blood. There was no evidence of the bloodstains he’d surely tracked into the house.

Dean’s pretty sure that Black Sabbath shirt is his.

Lucifer waved at them as they approached, looking halfway between incredibly pleased with himself and thoroughly abashed. Dean snorted as he got out of the car. “Why’re you wearing my shirt?”

“It’s yours?” Lucifer looked down at the t-shirt. “Huh. It’s comfortable. I’m wearing it because the _wonderful_ Mister Singer decided to get back at me for tracking Monster blood into his house by hosing me down. Even after I cleaned it up for him! Anyways, _my_ clothes have several holes burnt into them.” He didn’t seem too torn up about it, which was a good sign. Satan can be a good sport, it seems. “Let’s just say that I found out the pipes are blessed the _hard_ way.” He hooked a thumb back towards the house. “Last I saw, Singer was laughing it up in there. He brought this out for me to wear, since, you know, I can’t exactly snap my own up until I dry off.”

His cheerful explanation brought a smile to Dean’s face. Even Sam found it amusing, and he seemed to have been in permanent Bitch-mode ever since Castiel broke down that wall in his mind. Dean decides that it’s nice to have at least one person around who’s always ready to joke around at their and his own expense.

“You know we have something called a towel, right?” Dean laughs, walking around to the back to unpack his things. “You don’t have to air dry.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes back at him. “Dean, I know you haven’t met that many angels, but _most_ of us aren’t completely clueless. Yes, I know what a towel is. I also know how a toaster works, and I can operate a microwave without blowing anything up. Just in case you decide to ask anymore dumb questions.”

“Okay, smartass, then why’re you out here?” The hunter retorts, propping the trunk up with his sawed-off.

“Why not?” Lucifer throws back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I like it out here; I can see the stars.” Not as many as he’d like to, thanks to light pollution. But the night sky is still beautiful, no matter how much of it is gone now.

That claim earns him a light chuckle as Dean pulls a few things out. “Suit yourself, then.” The trunk shut with a thump. “I’m going to go torture myself with the news and then hit the sack. Goodnight, Luce.”

The Archangel continued to look at the stars as they appeared in the darkening sky. “Dream well, Dean.” He gave the human a short wave, then returned to his stargazing.

Dean smiled to himself, going inside to do just as he claimed he would.

And that night, he did have good dreams.

\- - -

He had great dreams. All the way up until about two AM. It was then that his hunter instincts kicked in, and he realised he was being watched.

Dean cracked one eye open, noticing that whoever it was, was by the window, standing almost perfectly still.

He really should have known who it was, but it was also two in the morning, so he wasn’t exactly at his best. In a manoeuvre that would have made John Winchester proud, he pulled the gun from under his pillow and rolled off the bed, coming to a kneeling crouch with the bed between him and the intruder, his gun trained on the silhouette.

The mystery figure snorts, raising his hand in a joking manner. “Easy Dean, it’s just me.”

Dean promptly lowered his weapon, recognising the voice. “Fuck, Luce. You scared the shit outta me. Did anybody tell you it’s creepy to watch people sleep?”

For his part, Lucifer had the decency to at least _sound_ apologetic. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I can wait downstairs, if you need more sleep.”

The hunter sat back down on his bed and turned his bedside lamp on so he could see the other man. “What do you mean, wait?”

“Um.” Dean was amazed to see Lucifer look vaguely unsure of himself. “Remember how you offered to . . . to listen, if I felt like talking about, you know. . .”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Lucifer rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal. I just decided that I’d try dealing with it your way, but you were asleep, so I figured I’d just . . . wait. here.”

Dean blinks, getting the weirdest sense of Déjà vu, despite being fairly certain that he’s never been in this situation before. Well. He’s definitely not getting any sleep now. Not until he hears what Luce has to say. If he does send the Archangel away, he’ll be kept up by his own curiosity, so he pats a spot on the bed next to him while covering up a yawn. “Nah, I’m up now. Talk to me.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Lucifer asks, reluctantly taking his place next to Dean, seating himself cross-legged.

The hunter shrugs, answering carefully. “Yeah, a little. But waking up at ass-o-clock in the morning to help a friend out is what Batman would do, so I don’t mind.”

Dean pretended not to notice the small smile he received in response to calling Lucifer his friend. The Archangel snorts, seeming to relax a little bit. “Do you often base your decisions off of what Batman would do?”

“All the fuckin’ time.” Dean smiles at the blonde, turning to face him better. “Go on Luce, I’m here for ya.”

And after a deep breath, Lucifer did.

Dean was right. When he was done, he _did_ feel better.

**\- One Week Later –**

**{Imagine various shenanigans, like Lucifer trying to get Sam to eat an apple, and Bobby beating Lucifer at chess, and Gabriel showing up to prank all of them once or twice. Family bonding. Whoo.}**

They discovered Lucifer could cook. And not just cook, but _cook._ Why he could, none of them knew, but they weren’t complaining. When asked, he just claimed he was bored, and he was tired of smelling crappy microwaved food. If he has to spend all his time here, he’d like the food to at least smell decent. (Dean is convinced that if he were human, or just needed to eat, Lucifer would be one of those Organic, Seasonal, and Locally-grown only food freaks. He’d be worse than Sam, health nut that his brother is.) The hunter can't complain though, because this morning Dean woke up to the smell of bacon sizzling on the stove, and Lucifer humming to himself as he kept an eye on it.

“Dude, you rock.” Dean greeted Lucifer, reaching out to pluck one of the strips of bacon from the skillet.

His hand was slapped away. “Not yet, Winchester. Sit down.”

Dean was embarrassed to say that he actually whined a little, but did as asked. “Seriously, how do you know how to do all this? I’ve never smelled bacon so good before. Except maybe at that diner in Michigan.”

“TV.” The blonde answers with a note of amusement. “Castiel’s left me with a dangerous amount of free time. I was watching Fox, and I’m ashamed to say I’ve become rather taken with your Chef Gordon Ramsay.” He knelt down to get a look at the biscuits he was baking, shook his head, and straightened back up.

“Figures you'd watch Hell's Kitchen.” Dean snorts, running his fingers through his bed-head. “Could you be any more cliché?”

The devil laughs lightly. “Can you really blame me? He pits humans against each other in passionate battles of culinary skill. I’m entertained and educated at the same time.” He pours the bowl of egg whites he had waiting onto a small pan and put it, too on the stove. “Also, Fox was marathoning it, and nothing else worth watching was on.”

“Of course you can’t just like it for a _normal_ reason.” Dean rolls his eyes, feigning exasperation.

There was a tsk from the kitchen. “Is that not why other people watch it? People love to watch other people fight, whether it’s gladiators and lions, or something as simple as cooking, that’s always been true.”

It was quiet for a moment (save for the sizzling of delicious bacon) as Dean thought about what Lucifer said.

The Archangel tended to the food he was cooking, opening up the oven soon after putting the eggs on the stove and taking the biscuits out to let them cool off. The yolks were baked along with the biscuits, one crowning each of them. “I didn’t say that’s a bad thing, Dean. Competition is good. It’s how your kind progresses as a species. You can stop trying to think of how to convince me I’m wrong.”

Dean was indeed doing exactly that, and he had to briefly wonder if Lucifer could read minds. “It’s too early for your judgemental crap.” He pulled a hand down his face. “C’mon, talk about something else. Tell me. . . Tell me what you like about people. There’s got to be at least _one_ thing.”

The devil didn't answer for a bit, and Dean almost thought he was ignoring the question, until he turned the stove off and turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “Your creativity, I suppose. Whether it be torture, art, weaponry, or food, humanity never seems to run out of new ideas. In that way, you remind me of my father. If only your kind used that gift just for good. . .” He shook his head, then went back to preparing the breakfast.

A smile snuck its way onto Dean’s lips. “I knew there had to be something. Personal question; but what made you hate humanity so much?”

“Nuh-uh, I answered your question, now you answer mine.” Lucifer shook his head, cutting the biscuits in half and putting each on its own plate. “Why do you fight monsters and demons like you do, even though you know you’ll get no reward for it?”

The question was met with silence for a moment while Dean chewed his lip and thought. Lucifer finished assembling his breakfast sandwiches and set Dean’s plate in front of him. “Because someone has to, I guess. I mean, if I don’t do it, who else will?”

“There are other hunters.” Lucifer reminded him.

“Yeah, but not that many. And if everyone who knew how to fight these bastards said ‘Oh, there’s someone else, it can be their problem’, then nobody would do it.”

“So. . . You put your life on the line, live on stolen credit cards, suffer disgusting motels, and constantly use fake identities; because if you don't do it, you can’t count on the people whose lives you’re protecting to do it in your place?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Mhm, that pretty much sums it up, yeah.”

“You’re crazy.” Lucifer shook his head again.

“Yeah? Well so are you.” Dean gestured to the table’s other seat as he picked up the _wonderful_ -smelling breakfast. “Okay, I answered your question, now answer mine.”

Lucifer took the seat offered to him. “Fine.” He waved a hand, and the two other plates disappeared. Sent to their intended recipients’ rooms, presumably. Lucifer liked cooking, but not necessarily the whole ‘eating together’ with non-morning people thing. “You asked what made me hate humanity, but I don’t hate humanity, so I’ll answer the question you _meant_. I want humanity’s destruction. The way I see it, putting your species out of its self-perpetuating misery would be a mercy. You’re all so _unhappy_ , and you take your malcontent out on each other, creating a vicious cycle of unhappiness which begets more unhappiness, and so on and so forth. But that’s beside the point. The answer to your question is fairly simple. My father asked me to serve and bow to your kind; an obviously lesser race. I refused, and he tossed me out on the metaphorical street for my disobedience. Naturally, I’m angry.”

He kept his eyes on the table as he spoke, seemingly focused on picking at a crack in it. “I mean, wouldn’t you be, if you had a disagreement with your father, and he flat-out refused to hear you out? He just, He didn’t _listen_. He never explained _why_ humanity was meant to be higher than us. I questioned Him, and He didn’t waste a moment in getting rid of me.” He put his hands in his lap to keep them still, looking back at Dean. “I’m off-topic again. Apologies. In any case, I can’t fight God head-on. I’m not that strong. I can’t even reach Him if he doesn't want to be reached, let alone somehow _force_ Him to have a real conversation with me. If my brothers were on my side, maybe we’d stand a chance, but that’s never going to happen. So I need to hurt Him some other way, make Him feel the anger and loss I felt, show him how serious I am. He cares about you humans enough to throw _me_ out, the one He _supposedly_ loved the most, so I lashed out at you. Tempting Eve wasn’t enough to prove how flawed and weak you are, so I created demons. That wasn’t enough, so I gave your sins form and consciousness. That wasn’t enough, so I threatened to destroy all of you. _That_ got me locked away. It seems He won’t confront me unless I actually make good on that threat.”

Dean remained silent throughout the explanation, quietly appalled at how nonchalantly Lucifer spoke of just . . . the end of humanity.

"But lately. . . I don't know.” Lucifer sighs, putting his elbow on the table and dropping his chin into his palm. “It almost isn't worth it anymore. There’s hardly anything left of this planet to save from your pollution and barbaric ‘urbanisation’. And I don’t know if Dad even gives a shit about you lot anymore. It certainly doesn’t seem like it. He’s tossed you aside just as He did me. Like a broken toy He’s bored of playing with. As for Michael, I’d really rather not fight him if I can avoid it. He may be a dumbass, but he’s _my_ dumbass brother. You know what I mean?” Seeing Dean’s expression, he decided it was time to stop talking about this. He tried to laugh it off. “Yeah. And you thought _you_ had daddy issues, huh?”

It’s really too damn early for this kind of deep thinking. Dean huffs his agreement, finally biting into the breakfast sandwich. It’s as good as it looks. He takes a moment to savour the taste, and then swallows it so he can talk. “I guess I can see your thought process, but I still think you went about that all the wrong way. You want him to talk to you, right? And he’s one of those ‘because I said so’ Dads, from what you’re saying. You challenged his authority, and he didn’t like that. And then you kept acting out and making it worse. Breaking his stuff isn’t going to make him give you what you want. At least, _my_ dad whupped my ass if I broke his shit.” Dean finished with a shrug. “This is really good, by the way.” He takes another bite, humming warmly at the taste. “Thanks for cooking.”

“Don’t mention it.” Lucifer replies distractedly, frowning to himself. After a second, he shakes himself back to the conversation. “One last question. Why’d you interrupt Michael and I? What was so important about stopping the Apocalypse? The world has to end someday, Dean. Humanity will die out, whether it’s due to pollution, resource exhaustion, war, or the sun going supernova (assuming you all somehow manage to survive that long), so why delay the inevitable?”

Ever since Lucifer shook his hand, Dean had been expecting a question like this. That didn’t mean he had an answer ready right away. But it did mean he didn’t take quite as long to respond as he did before. “You aren’t going to like the answer. I’ll tell you right now, I didn’t do it to save the world. I didn’t do it out of some bullshit ‘it was the right thing to do’ nobility crap.” The hunter starts off, and Lucifer watches with rapt attention. “I did it because . . . because I know I’m a selfish piece of shit, and Sam had to carry my weight through the apocalypse. He had to say yes to you because I was too much of a stubborn coward to say yes to Michael. I didn’t expect to make a difference, to be honest. But I’ll be damned before I let the world end without telling Sam that no matter what shit I’ve said, and no matter what he’s done, he’s my brother, and he will _always_ matter to me more than anything else.”

Silence reigned again. Lucifer was no longer looking at Dean, and what little the hunter could see of his expression was unreadable. “. . . You’re wrong. I couldn’t think of a better answer than that, Dean.” He looked back at the once-again eating hunter with a half-smile. “Sam’s lucky to have you as his brother.”

“Ha. No, I’m the lucky one.” Dean swallowed the last bite of his breakfast sandwich. “But please, by all means, tell _him_ that.”

Neither spoke for a while. The silence between them wasn’t awkward or tense, for once. Without needing to be asked, Lucifer provides Dean with an Angel-mojo-made steaming mug of black coffee, to which Dean gave a grateful hum and promptly started on.

Dean piped back up after drinking his coffee. “One more question.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Go ahead, shoot.”

The hunter leans forward, pushing his empty mug aside. “So, you don’t seem like a terribly impatient guy to me. Waiting isn’t really an issue for you.”

“Yeah, so?” Lucifer stretched his arms above his head leisurely.

“So why do you _actually_ hate driving places?” Lucifer always complains that it’s so slow, but Dean’s pretty sure that’s not the real reason.

The devil frowns slightly, looking down the hallway like he hoped someone would walk in and save him from having to answer.

No one did.

Dean waited, and eventually Lucifer released a somewhat embarrassed sigh. “I’m not a fan of enclosed spaces, okay? It makes me feel trapped.”

Now that, Dean was not expecting. He thought Lucifer was going to say it smells bad, or that it’s loud, or something. Not that he’s _claustrophobic_. (Though given how long he spent trapped in a cage, it kind of makes sense.) Dean didn’t know quite what to say, so he just blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. “I’m terrified of flying.”

There were a few seconds of awkward silence as they stared at each other, and then they simultaneously laughed it off.

They were still sitting at the kitchen table in comfortable silence when Sam wandered in, thanked Lucifer for breakfast, and said he was going out for a run.

The devil waved off his gratitude and told him not to get into trouble. Dean called him a health nut. Sam called him a jerk, he called Sam a bitch; you know how it goes. With a tired ‘be back soon’, Sam left the Singer residence.

\- - -

Bobby was up and drinking his coffee before Sam got back. He could tell something was off right away. There was a car he didn't recognise in the drive-up, for one. The older hunter finally caught his eye, and jerked his thumb towards the living room. He shook his head slightly, and then continued with his coffee.

With the silent warning in mind, Sam shut the front door as softly as he could, and headed in the direction Bobby had indicated.

Three people were in the living room; Dean sitting on the couch, Lucifer standing in the corner nearest Dean, and . . . “Chuck?” Sam’s brows rose as he saw me, who he had believed to be dead, on the recliner. “Holy crap, where have you been?”

“Hey Sam, long time no see.” I turned around to give him a sheepish—and totally cute—smile. “Well, I, um, I travelled around for a bit, laid low like you guys said I should. But, I-I’ve been having really, um, really bad visions lately, and I –uh—I saw Castiel on the news. . . So I figured I should come talk to you guys?”

Sam looked past me to see his brother and Lucifer, using their expressions to judge what his own reaction should be. He didn’t get much from Lucifer, who had been silently and judgementally boring holes into me with his eyes ever since I introduced myself to him. Dean seemed relaxed enough though, and Sam apparently took after him, returning my smile. “Well, I’m just glad to know you’re still safe and sound after everything, Chuck. It’s good to see you again. Did you see something you thought we really needed to know?”

I like Sam. He gets to the point, sure, but he doesn’t skip over the pleasantries like his brother. “You too, Sam. And yeah, actually. I did see something. Well, not _see-_ see. I ‘s _aw’_ —” I made a jazz-hands-y gesture. “Um, you know what I mean. I was waiting for you to get back from your, um, your run before I told these guys.”

Sam nodded, walking around to join his brother on the couch. “I get it. Well, I’m back now. Hit us with it.” I sat back down with a nod.

Lucifer was still watching me with that same vaguely distrustful look. I figure that it’d be more suspicious to go on ignoring it rather than to address it. “Sure, Sam. But, um, first can I ask why Lucifer’s staring at me that way . . . ? It’s kinda freakin’ me out.”

Both Sam and his brother turned towards the devil, who just tightened his lips slightly at my question. He wasn’t quite scowling. . . But it was a close thing.

Sam levelled Lucifer with a questioning look. "Yeah, have you guys met, or something?” I shook my head, Lucifer shrugged. Sam’s brow jumped up a bit more. “Then what’s with the death stare, Lucifer?”

The fallen angel didn't stop watching me. "He's lying. And he's a shitty liar, too.” The hands that were previously in his pockets moved to cross over his chest. “You look like a prophet, sure. But you were lying when you introduced yourself. What are you, really?”

I didn’t have to answer, as Dean cut me off with a huff of laughter. “Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid, Luce? Chuck’s harmless, maybe a little scatter-brained, but he’s a nice guy. Why would he be lying?”

“Good question.” Those eyes were still locked on me. “I can’t tell why, but I _know_ when someone’s lying to me, and I don’t believe anything he says.” He had yet to even blink. “Well, no, I believe that he’s here to help you, and that’s the only reason I haven’t tried to turn him into wall art.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Aren’t Archangels bound to protect prophets?”

He gave me an amused half-smile. “I’m no Archangel, and you’re no prophet.”

“I must be, though. Raphael was protecting me before the apocalypse, um, well, _didn’t_ happen.” I replied anxiously. That much, he seemed to accept. My smile grew a little stronger, in an attempt to show him I’m trustworthy. “I’m on your side, and I swear I’m not lying to you.”

He seemed less happy with that, but gave a nod of acceptance after a moment. “Very well. Just tell me honestly that you aren’t a threat. I don’t care what you are, as long as you don’t cause trouble.” That was only half-true, I could tell. It definitely bugged him that I was able to disguise my presence so thoroughly from him.

I breathed a sigh of relief anyways. Good, it’s not time for me to reveal myself just yet. “I’m definitely not a threat. I’m just here to warn you.”

Lucifer nodded once and uncrossed his arms, stuffing them back in his pockets. “I believe you. Get on with it, then.” He’s asking his brothers if they know who I am over their link, despite his words. That’s fine, only Joshua knows how my current form even sounds.

As he feigned losing interest, I cleared my throat and looked back at the now vaguely-confused Winchesters. Dean of course, spoke up first. “So, are or aren’t you Chuck, and are or aren’t you a prophet?”

I tried to awkwardly laugh it off. “Yes, I’m definitely Chuck. And . . . If I’m not a prophet, I’m not sure what _else_ I’d be. You tell me, you’d know better.”

They shared a look until Dean finally shrugged. “Whatever. So what’d you ‘ _see_ ’, Chuck?”

“Right.” I stood up, beginning to pace purely out of habit. “Your plan won’t work. The Leviathan are getting stronger every day, so by the time Castiel realises that they’re there, it’ll be way too late, he won’t be able to push them out. You have to kill him now, or put _him_ in purgatory too. They’ve already got too strong of a hold on him. Telling him will just make them desperate, so you can’t do that, either.” I looked at Lucifer, whose full attention I now had. He had just been relaying this information to his brothers and suggesting they try to get Castiel to push the monsters out, now.

“How did you—” I cut him off.

“I pick up angel radio too, sometimes.”

“Oh.” He frowned, trying to remember if that was actually a prophet thing or not, and becoming frustrated when he didn’t know. (Maybe you’d know if you hadn’t gotten yourself kicked out, buddy. It is, by the way. Kind of. Some prophets can, some can’t. Just like some get visions, and some don’t.)

"You wouldn't _believe_ some of the stuff I hear at two am. The cupid channel is the worst.” I complain, to make my claim appear more valid.

He accepts it with a huff of amusement. “I can only imagine.” Mentally, he tells his brothers their conversation is being listened in on, and he’ll talk to them later. I don’t mind. It’s his right to be suspicious.

I’d just prefer that he were less suspicious at the moment, as it makes my job harder. Maybe warning them was a mistake. . .

Sam and Dean had a silent conversation of their own. Dean looked particularly displeased about this information, while Sam simply looked resigned. Eventually, the elder of the two turned to face me. “There’s really no way we can save him?”

Sadly, I shook my head. “Unless you can convince him to give all that power up without telling him about the Leviathan, I’m afraid not.” The answer is met with more silence, as they each try to accept that their friend (or brother, in Lucifer’s case) is officially a lost cause. “Hey, um, don’t worry too much about him. I mean, the big guy brought him back a few times already, maybe he’ll give Cass another shot?” I might, depending on what Cass decides to do once he finds out— _if_ he finds out—about the Leviathan. “Keeping the Leviathan contained is what’s really important, now. At least, my visions about them leave me feeling um, really, _really_ anxious, like God wants to avoid that happening at all costs.” I shifted on my feet, hoping that the show of nervousness would emphasise my point. “So, um. Yeah. Anything to get rid of them, I guess. Anything.”

It was Lucifer who finally responded, just a second before Sam had been about to. “If _He_ thinks this is so important, then why doesn’t He get off his child-abandoning ass and come help us himself?” I almost wish Sam had beat him to it. He’d been about to say something similar, but he wouldn’t have been such a butt about it.

I could only shrug. “I don’t get to ask questions, Lucifer. I just see what He shows me.” _Because it’s not time, you’re not ready yet_ , I want to say. “And, don’t you think ‘child-abandoning’ is a little harsh? I’d say he just doesn’t want to be a helicopter parent. You wanted independence, right? From what I can tell, he’s watching, but letting you make your own decisions.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. My son’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. “I don’t think you understand, _Chuck._ He tossed me in a hole, threw the hole away, and then _left_ without a word. Would you call _that_ independence? Leaving me to rot and suffer in my own personal hell for God-doesn’t-even-know how long?” He practically growled, and the temperature dropped about fifteen degrees.

Dean got up quickly and put a hand on his newest friend’s shoulder. He didn’t have to say a word.

The action seemed to shake Lucifer back to the present, and he shut his eyes and silently counted to ten to calm himself down. When he reopened them, the temperature had returned to normal. “My apologies. Of course, you wouldn’t know any better. But no, I don’t want independence. What I want is simple. I want an apology and a real, fair conversation. And then, I want to punch him in his stupid face.”

Again, with the apology. What did I do wrong? I did as I deemed necessary, and therefore owe him nothing. And he’ll _get_ nothing from me until he apologises for all he’s done.

Sometimes, I worry that he’ll never come around and see the error of his ways.

Lucifer continued when I didn’t say anything. “And. . .” _I want my father back_ , he wanted to say, but didn’t. “Nevermind. You mentioned killing Castiel is an option?”

Dean frowned slightly, then butted in with a follow-up question of his own. “Would that kill the Leviathan, too?”

The heartfelt thought, stronger than any of the other demands Lucifer made, left me distracted for a second. Their questions dragged me out of my moment of doubt, however. “Yeah, you’d have to find a way to kill _them_. Just killing Castiel won’t be strong enough. There’s a ritual somewhere, I think, but it’s been lost for millennia, and I don’t think I’d be able to translate it fast enough for you to use it in time.” Aka; I totally forgot what I had Metatron write, and I don’t remember where I put it. Oops. “You’ll have to use something older than the Leviathan to kill them.”

Bobby wandered in finally, standing by the doorway that lead to the kitchen. “Anything Angel-related is out then, yeah?”

I nodded in answer as Dean interjected again. “Is there _anything_ besides God himself that’s older than them?”

Several things, I want to say, but keep my mouth shut. I can’t baby them. They have to figure it out on their own.

Lucifer and Sam reach the answer at the same time. "Death."

They glance at each other, and Lucifer gestures for Sam to explain. “Death said he’s as old as, if not older than God, right? So he _must_ be older than the Leviathan. He can kill them, right?”

Anything from Purgatory would do it too. Or any of the ancient beings, such as the behemoth under the earth, or the Ziz above the sky. They were created at the same time, and each has a domain to guard. The Ziz protects heaven, the Behemoth slumbers in Hell, but the Leviathan had to be trapped in Purgatory for its wild and untameable nature. They are known in Greek legend as the ‘big three’, Zeus, Posiedon, and Hades. The Romans captured their true natures more accurately though, as Jupiter (Enormous and benevolent), Pluto (inevitable and indifferent), and Neptune (Fearsome and malicious). What the Greeks and Romans know as ‘titans’ too, would suffice. The celestial beings, my first creations, the current living centre of the universe. But even Lucifer does not know of them, so how could Sam hope to know?

Jesus is also nearly as powerful as myself, but he’ll be even more difficult to find than Death. Not to mention, he’d never even consider working with Lucifer, no matter what the cause.

Death will be difficult for them to convince to help them, but if they can pull it off, he will most certainly be able to do the job. Hell, if he were so inclined to, he could reap even me.

But I didn't say any of that. I just pretended to think about it for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, that should work.” I dusted off the front of my worn corduroy jacket. “So, that’s all I had to tell you, really.” My gaze lingered on Lucifer for a second. Oh, how badly I wanted to tell him that his progress since watching the Winchesters has made me so, so proud. But no, I can’t. He must grow _without_ my hand to guide him. For it to really mean anything, I can’t help, I can’t even push him in the right direction.

And it hurts.

I lose the internal battle and heave a soft sigh, eyeing him a little sadly. “He still loves you, Lucifer. He loves you so much that it hurts, and He longs to come back, but He can’t. Not yet. I just. . . Thought you should know. Don’t lose hope.” I want to say more, but I know that I can’t, not without revealing too much.

He freezes, caught off-guard by the unexpected message. He knows without a doubt that I’m speaking the truth, too. My son blinks a few times in rapid succession, and then quickly looks away. “Too little, too late.” He bites out, and I can tell he’s only saying it to keep up appearances.

He isn’t going to say anything else though, and I don’t need to hear what I already know anyways; that he feels exactly the same, and he just wants to know _why_ , _why can’t you come back and say these things yourself?_ (Oh, if only he knew the truth.)

With a quick nod in his direction, and a wave to the Winchesters, I turn on my heel to leave. “Maybe if we’re lucky, our paths will cross again. Until then, stay alive, okay?”

The boys wished similar things to me, and then I left. As I was driving away, one voice stood out amongst the millions of prayers I receive nigh-constantly. _I love you too, Father._

A tear rolls down my cheek as the seconds pass, and I force myself to remain silent. _Not yet,_ I remind myself, _he still isn’t ready._

He says nothing else, and I keep driving away until he can no longer sense me. It’s only then that I disappear back to my temporary home.

I need a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Distant Evil Laughter*
> 
> Betcha didn't see _that_ one coming, didja?
> 
> Yes, Chuck/God was the narrator THE WHOLE TIME. *X-Files theme* The idea I had for His involvement is that He's kind of writing this after-the fact, and it's something like a journal entry, or a part of His book series that He decided against publishing.
> 
> But man, I'm gonna have to say; the change in point of view was one of my favourite things in this story to write. And, Spoiler alert! ~~This is not the last you'll hear of Chuck either, my pinkie finger promises you. He'll be back in chapter 10, which is most definitely the climax of this story. All the action is in Chapter 10. Just you wait, my friends.~~
> 
> Tell me what you think! I love reading your comments!


	10. The Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Guest (MonkeyGirl77), Gamermom, Guest (Jim r pokol), and Guest (Sydelle S Driscoll) for all of your lovely reviews on chapter 8. In fact, I loved reading them so much, I'm going to upload Chapter 9 six days early.
> 
> (That, and [Deja Vu 22](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7725959/Deja-Vu-22) uploaded a new chapter for her amazing story ['Control'](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12184047/1/Control), and MonkeyGirl77 wrote a oneshot based on something in this chapter and she WON'T SHOW ME UNTIL I UPLOAD CHAPTER 9. So here, babe. happy now? )
> 
> So here you go guys, it's kind of short compared to the previous chapter and the next one, but BEHOLD. CHAPTER 9. DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

Michael and Gabriel weren’t happy with the newest development. Shortly after Lucifer told them that their eavesdropper was gone, both arrived at the Singer residence in order to join in the ‘what do we do now?’ discussion.

“Is Death really the only option?” Gabriel’s asking now, looking about as displeased about it as Dean does.

“No,” Sam interjects, “We _could_ just wait for the Leviathan to show themsel— _itself_ —but, we don’t know if that’ll be it, Castiel will already be gone, or if he’ll even be willing to throw himself into purgatory to get rid of them. Death isn't the only one, but he _is_ the  _best_  bet we've got."

“Death won’t be pleased.” Michael intoned, glancing at Lucifer. “I’m sure he still hasn’t forgiven you for binding him during the almost-ageddon.”

The devil shot his older brother a bitchface to rival one of Sam’s best. “ _Really_? Exactly how long have you been waiting to call it that, you loser?”

“I'd rather not say.” The eldest’s lips twitched.

Lucifer shook his head. “Unbelievable. I never thought I’d have to say this to _you_ , but will you take this seriously, Michael?”

"Oh, so it’s okay for _you_ to make jokes all the time, but when I do it, it’s not?” The elder grumbles. “And you say humans are hypocrites.”

“Of course you choose _now_ of all times to grow a sense of humour.” Lucifer snapped back.

“Knock it off, you two.” Gabriel interrupts before Michael can retort. “Do you really have to argue about _every goddamn thing?_ We have more important things to worry about right now!”

The older brothers glance at each other, and then collectively sigh. “I apologise, Gabriel.” Michael says at the same time that Lucifer responds with; “ _Yes_ , mother.”

Gabriel glares at Lucifer until he corrects himself. “. . . I’m sorry too.” He forces a cough. “Back to the matter at hand, Michael’s probably right about Death. I’m not exactly his favourite person right now, but I know how to bind him.”

Sam and Dean remembered _that_ summoning, the same night that they had tried to ice the devil via kill- _almost_ -everything bullet. (Fortunately for Lucifer, he was included in the few things that ‘almost’ refers to.)

With that night in mind, Dean spoke up in protest. “We’re not killing a town full of people for this. There has to be a better way.”

“Why not?” The ex-Archangel pouts slightly. “If we don’t bind him, they’ll die soon anyways. Hell, they’re going to die eventually no matter what, so what’s the problem?” Neither Michael nor Gabriel seemed to have a problem with this method either.

Fucking Archangels. “We aren’t killing people. Period.”

“What’s fifty people, in the grand scheme of things, Dean?” Michael asks. “We’d be saving the other seven billion, wouldn’t we? Their lives would not be wasted.”

"That's not the point.” Sam helps his brother. “We don’t kill people, we save people. There has to be another way, so we’ll do it that way.”

After a second, Lucifer sighed in annoyance. “Being a good-guy is so lame. Fine, we’ll do this your way.” He purses his lips, eyes looking up and to the side in thought. “I think there’s some weird spell that the Grand-something-or-other used to summon and bind him. Crowley might know it. I personally never cared for their methods. Not enough virgin-sacrificing.”

His brothers were giving him funny looks, and he shrugged at them like; ‘what?’ Gabriel shook his head after a second. “You’re trying _way_ too hard to sound evil. Just stop.”

“I _am_ evil. I _invented_ evil. I’m literally Satan.”

“You taught me almost everything I know, and I’m not evil.” Gabriel points out.

“You purr when someone scratches the spot between your wings.” Michael joins in, amused.

“You sing rock’n’roll duets in the car with me.” Dean adds in the same tone as Michael.

“You like cooking.” Bobby chimes in.

“You actually rescued a kitten from a tree during that hunt in Wyoming, I saw it.” Sam inputs with a snort.

Gabriel smiles widely at his older brother. “Now, I don't know about you, but none of that seems particularly evil to me.”

The devil looked like he was on the verge of either running away or murdering them all. Thankfully, he did neither. “I hate you. All of you.”

“Love you too, bro.” Gabriel’s smile just widened. “Every kitten-saving, rock’n’roll-singing, purring, cooking, and virgin-sacrificing bit of you.”

Now Lucifer looked like he was leaning more towards running away. “Shut up and stay on topic, would you? Someone needs to summon Crowley.” He breathed out a slightly annoyed huff. Lucifer may not like the self-proclaimed ‘King of Hell’ very much, but at least _he’ll_ be sane, unlike his current company.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean got up to make sure they had what they’d need. “On it, princess.”

Lucifer immediately put his hand up to the side of his head to mime making a phone call. “Yes, sir, I’d like to order a gravestone. It’s going to say; ‘Here lies Dean Winchester’s pinky finger. We couldn’t find the rest of him. 1979 to 2011’.”

Dean, for his part, booked it out of the room. (Fighting not to laugh, mind you.) Gabriel lost it.

Michael shakes his head in disapproval. “You need to stop with the death threats, brother. You’re going to scare your new friends away.”

“He's _not_ my friend.” Lucifer was quick to correct him.

“Really? So you’ll just sing duets with _anyone_ , then?” The elder called his brother on the fib with an arched brow.

Gabriel was standing closest to Lucifer, and now that he had gotten control of himself again, he interjected with his own observations. “And I suppose you’ll wear just _any_ old human’s clothing, too, since your shirt smells an awful lot like him.”

“That’s different,” Lucifer protests, “Singer ruined _my_ clothing. I just needed something to wear, and this fit.”

“Yeah, a _week_ ago.” Sam interjects, enjoying the opportunity to tease Satan a little. “You only needed it while you were drying off, right?”

“There’s no significance to that!” The ex-Archangel replied defensively. “It just didn’t matter enough for me to bother changing it, and Dean never asked for his shirt back. But if it bothers you _so_ much, then fine.” He twisted his hand in midair, and Dean’s jeans and shirt were replaced with Nick’s clothes once more. Dean’s clothing was in his free hand. “Happy now?”

Sam smiled a touch evilly. “I thought you didn’t _care_ if us inconsequential humans were happy or not.”

Lucifer gave a growl of frustration. “ _Jesus Christ.”_ He gave up on the argument, seeing that he really can’t win this one. “Fuck you.”

Gabriel lost it again, and even Michael was having a hard time holding back his mirth.

Deciding that _nothing_ is worth dealing with _them_ , Lucifer turned on his heel to stride out of the living room. He passed Dean on the threshold, and shoved the Black Sabbath Tee and Levis onto the hunter’s chest. Dean just barely reacted fast enough to hold them there before Lucifer swept past and let his hold on them go. “I believe these are yours.” He bites out before continuing on his way. To where, Dean did not know for sure. The room they had unofficially assigned to him, maybe.

The squeak as Lucifer’s weight fell on the antepenultimate step of Bobby’s old staircase confirmed the suspicion.

Dean continues on into the living room, his arms now full of clothing. He raises an eyebrow at the room’s four occupants. “Okay, who pissed him off?”

Sam raised his hand guiltily. “He makes it too easy sometimes.”

The older Winchester shakes his head with a sigh, setting down the things he's carrying. Once everything is out on the coffee table, he points first at his brother, and then behind himself with his thumb (towards the door he had just come through). “Go. Apologise.”

“Aw, c’mon, Dean-o.” Gabriel interrupts Sam’s reluctant ‘Yeah, _okay_ ’. “We were just joking around. He’ll get over it.”

“Like he ‘got over’ Michael calling him a freak?” Dean immediately shoots back, his tone harsh. Michael has the decency to look ashamed. “Because last I checked, he’s still _really_ fucked up over that. Dude can hold one hell of a grudge, and if all it takes to fix the _incredibly_ fragile good will we’ve earned with him is Sam getting his ass over there and apologising, then he’s damn well gonna go and do just that. Now, Sam.”

The younger nodded quickly, realising just how badly he might have fucked things up if Lucifer took the playful taunting more seriously than the rest of them had. After all, it’s always funnier when it’s not you that’s the target, right? Sam left the room in a hurry, hoping Lucifer had at least stayed in the house.

Dean massaged his temple. “C’mon, Bobby. Wasn’t being nice to him _your_ idea? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bobby shook his head ever so slightly. “Can’t be walkin’ on eggshells around him all the time, boy. Not sayin’ Sam should’a pushed him that far, but he’s one of us now, an’ you wouldn’t hold back on Sam and me, or vice versa.”

Michael was chewing on his lip, still thinking about what Dean told him about Lucifer still being hung up on the (admittedly) awful things he had said before casting his brother out.

That meant Gabriel was the only angel still following the humans’ conversation. “Wait, being nice to him was. . . Some kind of plan? Strategy?” Suddenly, the generally lighthearted and cheerful Archangel looked angry. “So what, you’re just _pretending_ to like him, until he’s not useful anymore? I have half a mind to stick you in another goddamn mystery spot.”

“No, wait, no.” Dean put his hands up in a placating gesture. “I mean, yes, _originally_ it was just ‘operation: sympathy for the devil’. We just needed him to like us enough to hesitate long enough to maybe shove him into purgatory too, when this all goes down. But now. . . I don’t know, He’s really not such a bad guy. Sure, he’s colossally fucked up, and probably completely insane, but he’s not some monster, like I thought. He’s just. . . He’s really sad, I think. And I get it. Kinda.” The hunter rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not pretending to be his friend. Assuming we all get out of this unscathed. . . He’s welcome to hang around as long as he wants. That’s _my_ vote, anyways.” He looked pointedly at Bobby.

The grizzled hunter gives a shrug. “As long as he don’t make good on all those threats he makes. . . Lucifer’s good enough company. He’ll be welcome here anytime.”

“See?” Dean lowered his hands as Gabriel’s anger disappeared. “We good?”

“. . . Yeah, we’re good.” The Archangel of justice concedes, his mood brightening considerably. “And hey, since I know _he_ won’t say it, thanks for giving my brother a chance. Not many people would.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean starts, his annoyance evident in his tone, “you and your brother think you know everything, don’t you? I’m sick of you just assuming things about me, my brother, and Lucifer too, now. He’s not a child. He understands _full well_ what he is, and where he stands in most people’s initial judgements. He may not have thanked me for giving him a shot in so many words, but he _did_ say it, okay? He doesn’t need you to do it for him.” The hunter’s anger was growing with each word he spoke, now. “And furthermore, he doesn’t _need_ to thank me, especially for something as fucking basic as being a _half-decent human being_. If I can’t do even _that_ without needing to be thanked, then everything he thinks about humanity is absolutely-fucking-right.”

Seeing the vague surprise and lack of understanding in Gabriel’s eyes, Dean began to understand exactly why this particular family had so many problems. If even (what he assumed to be) the most world-savvy of Lucifer’s brothers still only considered his point of view as akin to that of a child throwing a temper tantrum, it’s no wonder he feels like he can’t talk to anyone.

If Dean has learned anything about Lucifer since (basically) living with him 24/7, it’s that the devil is nothing if not intelligent and reasonable. At the very least, he is _by no means_ a child anymore.

The mouth of God took a few seconds to regain his voice. “I didn’t mean to. . . I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the gesture, and I’m sure he does, too. I wasn’t sure if he had. . .” Gabriel trails off, and then shakes his head regretfully. “No, I’m sorry, you’re right. It was pretty tactless of me to say it that way.”

“Apology accepted, even though it’s really Lucifer you should be apologising to.” Dean’s tone returned to its former calm.

The corner of the honey-eyed Angel’s lips twitched in the slightest hint of amusement. “Y’know, the last couple of times we talked, you were decidedly _not_ Team-Lucifer. What changed your mind?”

Dean’s answer was simple and clipped. “I asked him for his side of the story, and I actually listened. Maybe you should try it.”

Now Gabriel looked sympathetic. “And what, he gave you that sob-story about how Daddy kicked him out for disagreeing with Him? Did he tell you about his attempted coup on God’s throne when Dad said to study humanity first, and return only once he had a more educated opinion? Did he tell you how after that, Dad tried to let him just stay on Earth, as far from humanity and his more obedient brothers as he wanted? And how when given even that freedom, he just _had_ to prove he was right, so instead of just ignoring Adam and Eve, he snuck into the garden and tricked them into breaking the one rule God had given them? And father even forgave him that, only forbidding him from re-entering heaven, until he threatened to destroy all of humanity. Only then, did our Father decide he was too hot-headed and dangerous to walk the Earth freely. Tell me, what about that sounds unfair to you?”

Fortunately, Bobby answered Gabriel, since Dean didn’t have one for the angel. “All of it. That’s terrible parenting. When your kid doesn’t agree with you, you don’t tell him ‘you’re wrong, now go away and don’t come back until you can tell me I’m right’. You sit ‘em down and ask ‘em why they think you’re wrong, because it’s your job to teach your kid right from wrong and to love ‘em no matter what. Lucifer ain’t stupid. He saw a thing he thought was bad, and he didn’t understand why he should pretend it was good. God never told him why, He just told Lucifer he was wrong, and kept punishing him and pushing the problem further and further away, when all Lucifer wanted was an explanation.”

Bobby was obviously making a huge effort not to get too pissed off. When it comes to the subject of parenting, Dean knows just how passionate he gets, and is frankly amazed at the older hunter’s restraint. “Point is, Lucifer was God’s kid, and he didn’t do what was his _job_ , as a parent. Kids aren’t supposed to be obedient little soldiers; they ask questions, they do stupid shit, and they break your heart. Kids shouldn’t have to apologise for being kids, because they didn’t ask to be. _God_ signed up to be a parent, he should have been ready for all the responsibilities that come with that.” His tone was strained, but not quite angry, and definitely not angry at Gabriel. If Dean had to take a guess, he’d say Bobby’s anger was directed at God, and he was trying his hardest not to let Gabriel think that anger was directed at him. After all, it’s not Gabriel or Michael’s fault that they were children to a seemingly negligent, responsibility-dodging father.

(Pardon the interruption, Sir, Madame, or otherwise identified reader, but _really_ , Dean, Bobby? Are you sure you couldn’t phrase that _more_ harshly? I’m not _that bad_. And it’s not like I had an example to go off of. . . Writing your blasphemy is hard, sometimes. And don’t even get me _started_ on Lucifer and Castiel. Their claims are utterly ludicrous, me-damnit! But I digress. Please, continue on with the story, I will attempt not to interrupt again.)

“That kind of thinking will land you in Hell.” Michael finally joins the conversation to defend his father. ( _Thank you._ I know I can always count on you, Michael.) He shifts on his feet as he does so, as if he isn’t completely sure he agrees with the sentiment, however. (Fine, I take it back. Hmph.) “I would advise against it. Good people have gone to Hell for less, I’d hate to see the same thing happen to you.”

Dean loosed an unimpressed grunt. “Yeah? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. If telling you guys to get your heads out of your asses, apologise to each other, and then kiss and make up is damning; then so be it. Damn me to Hell, because I’d rather die _doing_ something than playing it nice and safe.”

“Do as you wish, Dean. I mean only to warn you of your actions’ consequences.” Michael responded agreeably. “Your bravery is admirable, but sadly misplaced, I believe. Please keep in mind that my father is prone to flooding the Earth when angered, child.”

“Noted.” Dean responds gruffly, shooting a glance down the hall where Lucifer and his brother had disappeared. After a second, he shook himself and turned back to the rest of the group, intending to start with the summoning ritual.

However, Michael beat him to the punch. “What you said before. . . About Lucifer still being ‘hung up’ on the things I said. . . Is that true, or . . .?”

“Or did I only say it to make a point?” Dean finished, already shaking his head in the negative. His tone managed to be harsh and gentle in equal measures. “No, I didn’t make that up. As far as he’s concerned, you believe he’s some kind of abomination, just a freak of nature.”

The hunter’s angelic counterpart looked stricken, glancing down the same hall Dean had. “I never. . . I didn’t. . . I need to have a word with my brother.”

He was stopped from doing so by Gabriel’s hand on his shoulder. “Not now, bro. Let’s get this demon summoned first. You’ll both have time to talk about your feelings as much as you want once the Leviathan are taken care of.”

Taking that as his cue to get to work, Dean made his way back to the safe room in Bobby’s basement.

\- - -

Lucifer had been in ‘his’ room for a grand total of four minutes before he was disturbed. He’d just gotten himself settled comfortably on his back, arm covering his eyes so he didn’t have to look at the dull green rafters that made up the sloping ceiling above his head.

The room seemed oddly untouched to Lucifer; it was a furnished bedroom, but he got the impression that no one had used it in years. There was nothing but a lamp on the dusty bedside table, the sheets of the bed were stiff with disuse. It was like Bobby had cleaned up the room for some purpose, and never gotten around to using it. . .

Not to mention, there was a faint but lingering scent of blood and sulphur coming from somewhere in the room. Perhaps that’s why everything appeared to be undisturbed. Did someone die in this room? How dreadful.

Alas, such wonderfully morbid thoughts were interrupted by his unwanted visitor.

 _Knock, knock. Knock, knock._ “Lucifer? Are you in there?”

All Sam got was silence.

The doorknob jiggled slightly, there was a _click_ , and then the barely-there _creeeeeak_ Lucifer’s more sensitive ears picked up as the door was pushed open.

Ugh, of course Sam knows how to pick locks. “Don’t you have a demon to summon?” Satan greeted the human with no small amount of irritation.

“ _We_ do, yeah.” Sam corrects him, hovering just inside the room. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Lucifer moved his arm just enough to show Sam the annoyance in his expression. “If I said ‘yes’, would it stop you from coming in anyways?”

“Probably not.” The hunter tried for a smile as he started towards the ex-Archangel. “I wanted to apologise. We were joking around at your expense and that wasn’t fair.”

Along with Sam’s apology, the scorn drained out of Lucifer’s countenance. He sat up with a soft ‘hmph’ as Sam hovered by the bedpost. “Did Dean tell you to say that?”

The taller man shifted guiltily on his feet. “Yeah, kinda. Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry, though.”

And that much was true, so Lucifer found himself unable to stay pissed off. At Sam, at least. Sometimes, just a simple acknowledgement of guilt is all anyone needs. “Mhm. Apology accepted, I guess.” He pats the edge of the bed as he swings his legs off it. “Sit with me for a minute?”

Huh. That was easier than Sam expected. With a quick nod, he does as asked. “What’s up?”

Lucifer didn’t answer right away. He just watched the hunter for a moment before seeming to build up the nerve to say what he wanted to say. “I believe I also owe you an apology. But not for your hallucinations, that’s _all_ you and your crazy kamikaze pit-diving scheme.”

“You know about the—”

“Yes.” Lucifer cuts him off. “I assume there’s a _reason_ you don’t want to tell Dean? Whatever it is, your secret’s safe with me. Just don’t tell Michael and Gabriel about my man-crush on Gordon Ramsey. They’ll never let me live it down.” He winked conspiratorially, but quickly sobered up. “Anyways, I’m not apologising for that. It’s not _directly_ my fault.”

Sam raised a brow, now wondering if the Archangel was the one responsible for putting him into a dreamless sleep every night over the past week and a half. He doesn’t ask though. Even if he was, Lucifer would never admit to the small kindness. “So what _are_ you apologising for?”

There was a slight cough, and the blonde on his left looked away briefly. He made eye contact with his former vessel before speaking, however. “It’s come to my attention that perhaps, some of the things I did before judgement day were. . . To put it lightly, I was kind of totally horrible. Impersonating your dead girlfriend, giving my children free reign to screw with your life, making you watch as I killed every possessed person who had affected you, beating the crap out of Dean. . .”

After a short pause during which Lucifer seemed to internally struggle with some dilemma, he continued. “. . . You’re my human counterpart, and I should have treated you with respect and kindness, not relied on manipulation to make you say ‘yes’. I don’t know how I can make it right, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, and I know my presence here has made you uncomfortable, so I want to thank you for trying to make me feel welcome despite that.”

When the ex-angel was finished speaking, Sam patted his shoulder and offered up a smile. “You’re welcome, not that you need to thank me for that. You earned your place with us all on your own. As for before. . . I’m not sure I’ll ever completely forgive you for . . . everything, but that’s a good start. Apology accepted.”

Lucifer knew that it would take more than an apology to earn Sam’s forgiveness, but he was a little disappointed anyways. Returning the smile, he stood up. “When this is all over, I’ll do better. You’ll see, I’m not _just_ that monster.”

With a little smirk, (really, he couldn’t help it) Sam poked the blonde in the side, also standing up. “So, _not_ evil.”

Lucifer glared at his taller counterpart, rubbing the spot where Sam had poked him. “Oh, shut up, Sasquatch.”

By the time they made it downstairs to the basement, they were both smiling again.

\- - -

“No. No, no!” Lucifer heard the demon complaining long before he saw him. “Come on!”

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised.” That was Bobby, and Lucifer was pleased to know that that tone of voice wasn’t reserved _solely_ for him.

“Castiel is going to _kill_ me for even talking to you lot.” He groans, and as he comes into view, Lucifer can see the bottle of scotch and accompanying glass in his hands.

“You’re lucky we’re not stabbing you in your scuzzy face, you piece of--” Dean adds, but is cut off by Michael.

“Let’s do away with the pleasantries, yes? Get to the point, Dean.”

Before Dean could do just that, Sam ducked under the six-inch thick iron door’s frame, followed by Lucifer. As they entered the room, Lucifer locked eyes with the circle-bound and very apprehensive-looking demon. “Trapped is a good look for you, traitor.”

The terse greeting was met with a roll of Crowley’s eyes. “Yo, Daddy-o. I forgot to ask before, how was the view from the cage as I ruled _your_ kingdom? _Much_ better than you ever did, by the way.”

“You’re welcome to take a look for yourself, because that’s the only place you’ll be safe from me when this is over.” The father of Hell shot back without an ounce of humour.

Before Crowley could further the subject, Dean cut in. “Okay, put your junk away, both of you.”

“He started it!” Crowley whined in his defence. Lucifer just looked pleased that he _technically_ got the last word.

That didn’t last very long though, because Gabriel ruined it for him with a soft but teasing, “Like father, like son~”

Crowley cut in before that could get any worse. "Really though, the circle’s too much. I thought we were past this, boys.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and then answered him simultaneously. “Nope.”

The demon gestured with his bottle and glass. “C’mon. You saw him last time, what do you think he’s going to do when he finds out we’ve been conspiring again?” He pauses for a second to start filling his glass with scotch. “You do want to conspire, don’t you?”

Bobby piped up with a roll of his eyes and a buttload of sass. “No, we just want you to stand there and look pretty.”

“Listening.” The demon replies, then adds with a wink. “Anything for you, Robert.”

“Gross.” Lucifer inputs, pulling the most disgusted face Sam had seen him make yet.

Dean rolled his eyes at both the idiots. “We need a spell. To bind Death.”

For some reason, Crowley pretended like he was still shocked at the kinds of demands the Winchesters made of him. “Bind? Enslave Death? You having a laugh?”

“Good, you do have ears.” Satan made a jab at the incredulous repeating of Dean’s statement.

Dean shot him a quelling look before turning back to Crowley. “Dead serious. Lucifer did it.”

“Yeah but he’s _Lucifer_.” Was Crowley’s immediate excuse. Then he paused, giving said Archangel a confused look. “Why can’t you just do it again?”

“Apparently killing people is a no-no.” The blonde answers tiredly. “So my way is out.”

“Do you know another spell or not?” Bobby cut in, sounding more hostile towards Crowley than before. “Spit it out.”

Apparently, Crowley just _loves_ messing with the old hunter. “Ooh, you’ve no idea what it does to my icky bits when you take charge like that, Singer.”

“ _Gross_.” Lucifer growled it louder this time. “Just answer his damn question, Leprechaun.”

“I’m _Scottish.”_ Crowley corrected him immediately, completely losing his interest in Bobby for a moment. “And. . . Yes, I know another spell. Are you sure you lot can handle that kind of horsepower?”

Dean jerked a thumb at the trio of Archangels behind him. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

The king of Hell didn’t look convinced. “You’re all bloody insane.”

“Look,” Dean moved from where he was leaning against the wall. “Death is the only player left on the board that has the kind of juice to take on Cass.”

“They’ll both mash us like peas.” Crowley rebuffed him, not untruthfully. “Why should I help on a suicide mission?”

Bobby made his way towards the demon. “Look,” He said seriously, and this time Crowley didn’t look like he was going to make an innuendo at him. “Do you really want Castiel running the universe?”

Crowley frowned down at his half-filled glass, then downed the whole thing in one gulp. “You’re going to need a pen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, the thick plottens! I hope you all recognised that scene from the episode this whole story takes place during. Because I'll admit, I literally just watched that scene and wrote down what was happening as it did. (With minor changes because there are additional characters, obviously) Like, go ahead. Just re-watch the episode (7.01- Meet the new Boss). You'll see what I mean.
> 
> Anyways, the action is finally coming to a head! The next (and final) chapter will be uploaded either 11/26/16, or whenever [Deja Vu 22](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7725959/Deja-Vu-22) finished writing for the prompt I've given her. Whichever comes first. And along with it, I'll be uploading a bonus chapter for all the scenes I took out of this story, and other bits and pieces that I wrote for fun and whatnot.
> 
> So keep your eyes peeled, and tell me what you think!


	11. Changing the Tune

“Help? Please, Help?” A poor blind man sat on a sidewalk, holding a rusty tin cup that still managed to look like it was in better shape than the hand holding it.

Though he could not see the person who gave them to him, the man heard the coins as they dropped into his cup. “Thank you, God bless you, sir.”

But rather than carry on without a word like most did, the man deigned to stop and speak with him. “You are a true believer. People say that I’m wrathful. But I only punish liars and those who forsake me. I am a just God.”

The man did his best to turn his head in the direction of those (frankly, crazy) words. “Excuse me?”

Rather than an answer, he felt the tips of someone’s cold fingers press to his forehead. Something told him to shut his eyes, so he did.

“See.”

The man opened his eyes slowly, and his whole world changed. Light and colour and shapes appeared where there had previously been none. He could see! “Oh, my God. I can see!” He blinked, his long-unused eyes slowly, registering the world around him, and he immediately turned his newfound gaze onto the man who had called himself God.

But, rather than the kind, beautiful and wise man he had expected, there was simply a middle-aged brunette accountant before him, and . . . “Your face. . . What is wrong with you?”

The man with ugly red scarring around his eyes blinked in confusion, and then disappeared right before his eyes.

\- - -

After getting what he could remember of the spell from Crowley (and extracting a promise to send a more detailed outline of it), Gabriel and Michael disappeared to continue doing their jobs. Crowley was right about one thing, Castiel was going to be pissed if he caught any of them ‘conspiring’.

And like Lucifer said before, pissing him off is not good for anyone’s health.

Michael didn’t get a chance to have his talk with Lucifer, but he resolved to have it the moment that Castiel is defeated. God Himself won’t be able to hold him back then.

But now is not that time. Now, Lucifer’s busy with the Winchesters, and the other two Archangels will be most helpful by staying out of the way. Castiel can’t know what they’re planning, or surely heads will roll.

Fortunately, Castiel hasn’t chosen to check up on anyone recently. He’s taken to mostly performing minor miracles and occasionally making extravagant shows of strength against anything from occultist gatherings to political campaigns.

Later that same day, a ‘Cargo International’ envelope arrived via the gap under the front door. The demon who delivered it was gone as soon as Lucifer sensed his presence, and well before Bobby opened his door and greeted the empty air with confusion.

Inside was an artistically-written page covered with large, bold calligraphy. All in Latin, of course. “It’s from Crowley.” The older hunter announced.

As Dean walked forward to see, he let out an apprehensive hum. “Who feels like hog-tying Death tonight?”

“Old age is overrated anyhow.” Bobby laments, looking the page over.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic.” Lucifer drawls from the next room. “You’ve experienced your fair share of ageing anyways, old man.”

The Archangel received a bullet in the forehead not long after. He pulled the metal chunk out and mused that it would make a nice earring, or nose-stud, perhaps.

Deciding that there’s no helping that, Bobby figured he should get started on the spell. He made quick work of translating it at his desk. “Well, we’ve got most of this stuff, but we’re gonna have to make a run for a few things.”

"Like?" Dean asks, making his way over.

“Like an ‘act of God crystallised forever’.” Bobby replies sardonically.

Lucifer can’t help but add his two-cents. “Ooh, what fun.”

Sam ignores him, looking up at Bobby from his own laptop. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Theory-time. Bobby turns his screen to show Dean what he’s found. “I’m thinking it means an actual crystal. See, when lightning strikes sand at the right angle, it crystallises into the perfect shape of itself.”

“Lightning—an act of God.” Sam thinks out loud.

“Jenga.” Comes the quick response.

That just gets a skeptical ‘tsk’ from Lucifer. “Oh sure, Lightning-crystals. Only _God_ can make lightning.” He huffs in annoyance, adding under his breath, “Lightning’s easy. Act of God my foot.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the moody ex-angel. “I’m sure it’s just for _natural_ lightning. Since God supposedly created weather, y’know? What do you think?”

The devil just shrugs. “Beats me, I don’t have any better ideas. It could be a lot of things if we’re going to take it that generally. Regardless, it can’t hurt to try the lightning-sand-crystals.”

"It’s called Fulgurite.” Bobby corrects him, scrolling down the page. “We’re gonna need a biggie.”

Dean’s arms folded over his plaid-clad chest. “And let me guess—rare.”

Bobby confirmed his suspicious with a nod. “I found the records of an auction.” The hefty man gestured to the screen, leaning back in his chair. “Winning bidder lives nine hours from here.”

That statement got a long-suffering groan from Lucifer. “ _Nine_ hours? Please tell me we’re not driving.”

“Shotgun!” Sam butts in triumphantly as Dean gives his newest friend a look of sympathy.

The devil sags dramatically in his seat. “C’mon, I could get you there in nine _nanoseconds_.”

“Pass.” Dean rebukes the offer, returning to his spot besides Sam. “We might as well take everything we already have that we need for the spell with us, and just perform the ritual once we get ahold of it.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sam agrees, smiling as he shuts his laptop. “Let’s go get us an act of God.”

\- - -

Night fell long before they got to Dr and Mrs Weiss’ home. It was a fancy thing, the likes of which Sam and Dean had only been in a handful of times before.

Nine hours was a long time to be cooped up in a car together, especially with Lucifer and Bobby stuck in the back together. About five hours in, the humans got so sick of the arrangement that Dean agreed to sit in the back with Lucifer; letting Sam drive and Bobby ride shotgun. Because no _way_ was Lucifer getting shotgun like he wanted, not with that attitude. At least he seemed happy enough just to be sitting next to (though he’d never admit it aloud) his favourite of the humans.

Needless to say, everyone was happy to get out and stretch their legs; most of all Lucifer. He didn’t bother with the door, disappearing from his seat and out of sight.

“Hey!” Dean protested in a harsh whisper when he could no longer locate the Archangel. “Lucifer, stick to the plan!”

He didn’t get a response, so he and his fellow hunters just gathered everything they needed and headed for the side door they had agreed upon.

When he finally did find the troublemaker, it was through that very door, which Lucifer opened for them after frying the security system. He had the kind of cheeky smile on his face that usually made Dean want to punch it (but considering how much time he had just saved them, Dean was more inclined to just maybe lightly slap him for being a dick).

“Dude, were you even paying attention when we discussed the plan?”

“I had a better plan.” Lucifer remarked dryly as he let them pass. “I took care of the security guards and the couple who lives here. They won’t be waking up anytime soon.”

Upon receiving varying degrees of mildly horrified looks, he sighed irritatedly. “Oh, come on. I didn’t _kill_ them. I just put them to _sleep_. Have a little faith, guys.” And with that, he sauntered off into the house, leading the way to the fulgurite.

Three voices sighed in relief, and then the hunters followed the newest addition to their team inside the beautiful house.

The interior was even more extravagant than the exterior.

Whoever was in charge of keeping the place clean should get a medal. The lavish hardwood flooring with inlaid patterns made of varying trees was spotless, polished into a smooth and gleaming surface. The rooms were open and had tastefully designed stained windows on each outward-facing wall, and some of the inner walls too. There was a deep red tartan rug that probably cost more than they could afford to replace for the footprints they tracked into the house. No surface was left unadorned; each table, dresser, and shelf had some kind of antique vase or decorative plate atop it. In some cases, full matching sets of fancy . . . _things_.

The bookcases were lined with all manner of aged texts, and in the office there stood a suit of armour, just as polished and shining as everything else in the house. The people really liked their collections it seemed, because they had pedestals dedicated purely to display individual statuettes, and a framed knife set on the wall.

Dean nudged his brother and gestured to the wall-to-wall bookshelf filled to the brim with colourful volumes. “Hey look, they read.” Sam merely acknowledge the playful comment with his patented bitch-face #43.

Lucifer found himself drawn to the ‘act of God’, despite his earlier doubts. However asinine its creation, the object certainly held some kind of power.

Without any sort of reverence or hesitation, the Archangel waved away the glass casing and plucked the crystal from its stand. “Well, we’ve got our God thingy. Who’s ready to summon Death himself?”

"Ready as we'll ever be." Bobby spoke for the three of them.

“Let’s light this candle.” Dean agreed, only sounding slightly more enthusiastic.

They didn’t take long to set the spell up, the three humans working quickly enough together to not even really need Lucifer’s help. The Archangel watched from off to the side, trying to place the feeling of dread in his gut that had been gnawing at him for the past several hours. Anxiety? Apprehension? Something along those lines.

He brushed it off, attributing the feeling to his imminent run-in with Death. That guy always gives him the chills.

Dean opened a vein, giving the blood donation necessary for such a powerful spell. After a gruff “you’re welcome”, he wrapped the wound up with a bandana. He needn’t have bothered though, because Lucifer healed it a second later.

Finally, everything is put together, and Bobby stands before their makeshift altar in order to begin reciting the spell. “ _Te nunc invoco mortem.”_ The building began to shudder, but Bobby carried on. “ _Te in mea potestate defixi.”_ The shaking worsened, the glass in the room all simultaneously shattering in response. A crack appeared in the ceiling, and the room’s occupants quickly grabbed onto the nearest thing, lest they fall over. _“Nunc et in aeternum!”_

In accordance with the last word, the miniature earthquake died out.

If they were expecting some big display of power, or for Death to appear in a cheap smoke and strobe lights show, they were disappointed.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and then at their other companions. Dean moved first. “Um. . . Hello? . . . Death?”

The reaction was immediate. Where before there was nothing, the wizened old man that Death preferred the form of suddenly appeared. His gaze locked on Lucifer first. “You better have a very good reason for this, whelp.”

 _“_ Wasn’t me this time.” Lucifer was quick to correct him, gesturing towards the humans. “Not _just_ me, Anyways _.”_

It may have been just his imagination, but Lucifer felt as if his grace was growing colder the longer that Death’s attention was on him. As the being turned away, he updated his brothers on their success in summoning Death.

 Death finally acknowledged the others in the room, focusing on Dean. “You’re joking.”

The hunter held his hands up placatingly. “I’m sorry, Death.” He swallows nervously. “This isn’t what it seems.”

“No?” The ancient being lifted his hands and ethereal bonds appeared around them. “Seems like you _bound_ me.”

“For good reason, okay? Just, uh, hear us out.” Death lowered his arms to show Dean that he had his attention. “Uh. . .” Dean headed for the paper bag they had brought with them. “Fried pickle chip? They’re the best in the state.”

“That easy to soothe me, you think?” The english accent only added to the growing disdain in the being’s voice. Looking around at each of the room’s occupants, he reassessed his original guess about their reasons for summoning him. “This is about Sam’s hallucinations, I assume?”

Sam’s heart sank as Dean turned to give him a confused look. “What?” The betrayal he felt over having this kept from him was evident in the elder’s tone. How many times had he asked Sam how he was holding up, and how many times had Sam bald-faced lied to him?

Death didn’t acknowledge any of this. “Sorry Sam, one wall per customer. Now unbind me.”

It was Sam who spoke first, trying to ignore his brother for the moment. “We can’t. N-not yet.”

"This isn't going to end well.” Death predicts grimly, a hint of anger now in his voice.

Seeing that Dean was still distracted, Lucifer cut to the point. “We need you to kill God.”

“That’s nice.” The being rounded on him in annoyance. “Not going to happen. _Release_ me.”

For his part, Lucifer didn’t back down despite the clenching in his gut as Death turned his gaze back onto him. “Shut up and listen for a minute, gramps. We aren’t talking about _God-_ God. We’re talking about Castiel.”

“Pardon?” Death sounded more insulted than anything.

“You heard right. Castiel is playing God, and we need you to kill him.” Bobby clarifies roughly, and then adds quickly, “Your . . . honour.”

Death eyes him with a mixture of surprise and disdain. “And what makes you think I can do that?”

“You told me.” Dean answers, shaking off the bombshell that is Sam’s hallucinations for now.

“Why _should_ I?” Death corrects himself, now fixing Dean with that disdainful glare.

“Because. . .” Dean glances at his brother for support. “. . . Because we said so, and we’re the boss of you.” Bobby shot him a warning look. “I mean. . . Respectfully.”

Lucifer face-palms off to the side, internally lamenting about how totally screwed they are. Yeah, just piss off one of the most powerful beings in the universe, Dean. Go right on ahead. It’s not like any of us value our lives or anything.

Fuck.

“Amazing.” Castiel’s voice was abrupt, unexpected, and absolutely chilling. Everyone in the room jumped a bit at the sound, turning to face the nigh all-powerful being.

Being the closest one to him, Sam backed up a step. “Cass?”

“I didn’t want to kill you, but now. . .” Castiel raised his fingers to snap them out of existence, the raw and destroyed skin around his eyes tightening as he glares at his once-friends.

“You _can’t_ kill us.” Dean insists, not moving from his place.

“You have erased any nostalgia I had for you--” The angel begins, but is cut off by Dean.

The hunter steps forward with tentative confidence. Lucifer had to admire his nerve. “Death is our bitch. We ain’t gonna die even if God pulls the trigger.”

“Annoying little protozoa, aren’t they? ‘God’.” Death cuts in, but rather than the dismissive tone from before, he describes the humans (and Lucifer, technically) with a tone hinting at some measure of amusement and pride. His attitude towards Castiel however, is much the same as how he treated his summoners a moment before. “You look awfully like a mutated angel to me. Your vessel’s melting, you’re going to explode.”

“No I’m not.” ‘God’ countered, tone thick with denial. “When I’ve finished my work, I’ll repair myself.”

If Death were the kind of being predisposed to laughing, he might have done so before reproachfully correcting Castiel. “You think you can because you think you’re simply under the weight of all those souls, yes? But that’s not the worst _problem_. There are things much older than souls in Purgatory, and you gulped those in, too.”

“The Leviathan.” Dean speaks quietly, looking at Castiel. “They’re destroying you, Cass.”

Lucifer half-wants to shut him up, but the other half of him reminds him that they’re safe from that beast so long as Death is on their side. Willingly or not. He comments to his brothers sarcastically, _‘ ‘Well, Cassie knows he’s not alone in that noggin of his, now.’ ’_ He ignores their worried responses, maintaining his focus on the scene unfolding before him.

“Irrelevant.” Castiel remarks stubbornly. “I control them.”

That made Lucifer raise a brow. He knew already? How long?

“For now.” Death warns, expression cold. “I personally found the beasts entertaining, but He was afraid they’d chomp the whole petri dish. Why do you think God created Purgatory? To keep those clever, poisonous things out. And you’ve gone and swallowed them all, you daft angel.”

Lucifer could sense the crackling of power in the air as Castiel’s anger grew, but he spoke up anyways. “You’ve become nothing but a thin membrane between the Old Ones and this world, Castiel. Look at yourself, you can’t contain them forever.”

“Enough.” Castiel glared at the two other supernatural beings.

Death was having none of his denial. “What a stupid little soldier you are.”

“Why?” The cracking of power grew as Castiel neared Death (and not in the metaphorical way). “Because I dared open a door that he shut? Where is _He_? I did a service, taking his place.”

“Service?” Though he didn’t roll his eyes, his voice gave the impression that he was doing so internally. “Settling petty vendettas. . .”

“No.” Castiel interjects firmly. “I’m cleaning up one mess after another—selflessly.”

Death did not bother to hide the sarcasm in his tone. “Quite the humanitarian.”

Castiel was at about the end of his patience with the ancient being. “And how would you know? What are you, really? A flyswatter?”

“Destined to swat you, I think.” Death retorts seriously, meeting the other’s gaze without an ounce of apprehension. It must be easy to face down such powerful being without batting an eye when you’re the Universe’s only constant.

The once-angel’s voice held much less fear than it ought to. “Not unless I take you first.”

Where others might have balked, Death simply turned to the nearest person and remarked cynically, “Really bought his own press, this one.” He paced in a small circle before speaking to Castiel again. “Please Cass, I know God, and you, sir, are no God.”

The heated stare-down between them lasted for only a second before Dean interrupts. “All right, that’s enough.”

They turned their gazes onto him, so Lucifer felt the need to back his new friend up and draw some of that attention away and onto himself. “The dick-measuring contest is over, guys.”

“Look, call him whatever you want.” Dean draws the attention back to himself before one or both of them can waste Lucifer. “Just kill him now!”

Despite what he said earlier about his lack of nostalgia, the order still seemed to offend Castiel.

Death seemed equally offended by the uppity human’s tone. “All right. _Fine._ ” He lifts his hand to do just as he was asked, and it seems surprising to Lucifer that after all the trouble they’ve had thus far, killing Castiel is going to be as easy as a snap of his fingers for this being.

Not bothering to remove his gaze from Dean, Castiel quickly snaps his own fingers and the bonds around Death’s wrists reappear and dispel.

The primordial being examines his hand with an arched brow and then returns it to his side. “Thank you.” He tilts his head curiously at the more-than-an-angel. “Shall we kickbox now?” Receiving no response (and not expecting one, either), he walks away, speaking as he comes to a stop in front of Lucifer. “I had a tingle I’d be reaping someone very, very soon.”

He turns away, but that dread Lucifer had been feeling all afternoon? Definitely feeling it more now. The ex-Archangel keeps his eyes trained on Castiel. After Death’s statement, Castiel had focused his attention on his elder brother. “Brother—”

Castiel cuts him off. “You lied to me. You were planning to betray me, to kill me. After you pledged your _life_ to me.”

“I only meant to keep those monsters from overcoming you.” Lucifer attempts to explain, taking a step back and hitting the wall behind him. “If not for them, I would not have attempted this. I do not wish to see them consume you, and then this world.”

“They. Are. Irrelevant.” Castiel growls, advancing on his brother. “You promised me your _life_ , and then you _betrayed_ me. If your life means so little to you, then you need not worry about seeing anything consumed. You won’t survive that long.”

It all happened so fast.

Lucifer didn’t even have time to teleport himself away before Castiel was upon him, and there was a sickening _squelch_.

He vaguely heard the cries of Sam, Bobby, and loudest of all Dean. The sensation was odd, and it felt like too long before he managed to make himself look down at the origin of it. Castiel’s fist had gone clean through him: muscle, organs, spine, and all.

He lifted an arm on instinct to try and push the angel away, but he couldn’t get enough force behind it. He felt sluggish, like he was suddenly weighed down with bones made of lead.

The arm removed itself with another sickening noise, but Lucifer hardly registered it. Something was wrong with him. He could hear but he _couldn’t_ , he could see but everything was so _unclear_.

A shining brightness caught his eye and he struggled to lift his head to see it. The thing was within Castiel’s hand, and it seemed brighter, more in focus than anything around it.

His Grace.

The pain in his abdomen barely registered over the soul-crushing horror as he realised that he had become. . . _Human._ A pathetic, weak, and _rapidly expiring_ human.

Castiel crushed his grace within his hand, and Lucifer lost the strength to stand.

Dean ran to catch him, and Castiel disappeared.

\- - -

Michael froze where he stood, feeling a well of emptiness open up in the world.

 _‘ ‘. . . Lucifer.’ ’_ Gabriel’s mental voice sounds as dead and miserable as Michael suddenly felt. _‘ ‘Something tells me things didn’t go according to plan.’ ’_

 _‘ ‘Should we go see if we can help?’ ’_ Michael asks quietly, shock making his inner voice fall flat, detached.

It feels like a long while before Gabriel brings himself to answer. _‘ ‘No, Lucifer would want us to carry out the original plan. We have to act like we weren’t involved. We have to assume that they’re all dead now, and make sure that spell is ready for when we need it.’ ’_

Michael gives his brother a reluctant, wordless agreement, falling to his knees on the rocky ground beneath him. Gabriel says nothing more on the subject, and the elder can feel his own pain mirrored in that of his brother’s. The light of the Morningstar is gone, and the world is darker for it. Why is the sun still shining? Why is the earth still turning? Why?

The world should be crying.

The world should mourn the extinguishing of such a bright light.

The world is _wrong_ , it’s so _wrong._

How did everything go so wrong? They were together, things were _improving_. Michael was going to have a talk with his brother. They were free, they were going to be reconciled, and they could have been _brothers_ again. All those possibilities, all those chances at redemption are lost now. Michael had dared to allow himself to hope for a happy ending, and it had backfired tragically on himself. The _one_ good thing to come out of this righteous _mess_ is gone, extinguished along with Lucifer’s light.

Michael remains still for a very long time, head hung low in mourning. He knows now that he never would have been able to live with himself if he’d fought his brother and won. If he’d been the one to put a blade through his Morningstar and watch the light that shone so brightly drain from his eyes. . . Michael would never have been able to forgive himself. Even now, he can’t forgive himself for all the things he didn’t say.

For all the apologies he never gave.

For all horrible things he said instead.

For all the times he didn’t say ‘I love you’.

His brother, the brightest light in God’s sky, the over-zealous fledgling he’d helped raise from the beginning of time, is now gone. And Michael never told him the thing he never should have stopped saying.

And Michael, God’s warrior, first of the angels, breaks down and weeps for his fallen brother.

\- - -

Time seems to stretch on for Lucifer, everything moving in slow motion. He tries to take a laboured breath and succeeds only in taking a shallow gulp before dissolving into a coughing fit which surely soiled Dean’s shoulder with his blood.

So, so much blood. “I feel cold.” He whispers, unable to speak any louder.

“You're dying.” Dean replies, not sugar coating it. “You’ve lost too much blood. Humans need that.” Lucifer is grateful that Dean was clever enough to figure out what happened, what Castiel did. The hunter tries in vain to stop up the rather large hole in his body. “Sam, help me get him in the car, we need to get him to a hospital stat.”

“Oh, it's much too late for that.” Death intones blandly, plucking the bag of pickle chips from the side table Dean had set them on and beginning to snack on them. “He won’t make it.”

The older brother doesn’t take no for an answer. “Yes he will! Don’t you dare fucking let go, Lucifer, or I’ll bring you back just so I can kick your bitch ass for it. Sam, _help me_ goddamnit!” Sam rushes over to add his own jacket to the other side of the wound, looping one of Lucifer’s arms over his shoulder as Dean takes the other in a similar fashion.

Lucifer gasps sharply as they stand up and pain shoots through his body. “N-no.” He protests weakly. “It. . . Won’t matter.”

However Castiel had hit him, it had missed everything crucial to his immediate survival. He was going to die of blood loss, slowly and painfully, and he’s certain that’s what Castiel intended for him to do.

“Bullshit.” Bobby reprimands him as Sam and Dean just ignore his protests and start carrying him towards the car. “You can hold on for the five goddamn minutes it takes to get to the nearest hospital. Don’t you dare give up on us, boy.”

Death shook his head as he consumed another chip. “He’s got three minutes left. You won’t get there in time.” The ancient being approached the ex-Archangel, his voice becoming slightly less harsh. “Castiel inflicted a horribly slow demise on you. And you were finally growing up. I can end your suffering sooner, little star.”

Dean tried to pull Lucifer away. “No! We can save him! Luce, tell him no!”

Lucifer made a laboured effort to turn his uncooperative head towards his first and only friend. “I’m sorry . . . Dean.” Coughs wracked his weakening body. “I . . . want you to know . . . I’d be honoured to call you . . . my brother.”

Dean is struck momentarily speechless at the heartfelt admission from the being he’s become strangely attached to over the past week. Tears stung at his eyes without his permission. “Then don’t go, brother.”

Lucifer made a painful-looking attempt at a smile. His teeth were stained with his own blood. “Would if I could . . . brother.” He coughed again, more blood staining his lips. Finally, he turned to face Death. “Please.”

The being set aside his bag of pickle chips. “Very well. Do you have any last words, Lucifer?”

Last words. Possibly the most important thing a person ever says during his or her lifetime.

In a court of law, a person’s recorded last words are counted as admissible proof, for the simple reason that one does not usually use his or her last breath to lie.

Someone may say a million and one clever things in his lifetime, but he may only be remembered by the last thing he ever said.

It is with this in mind that Lucifer chooses his last words, even though it didn’t take him very long to decide what he wanted to say most.

Sam helped him onto the couch, Bobby taking Dean’s place since the other hunter refused to take part in Lucifer giving up on life (despite there really not being any chance of survival for him). Lucifer half-wishes that Dean would stop being in denial long enough to realise that he needs a friend . . . a _brother_ right now.

Giving up on trying to convince Dean to come closer with just his eyes, Lucifer turns his gaze heavenward and speaks in a steady voice, but barely above a whisper. “If you’re listening, Father. . . I loved you, I still love you, and I’ll always love you. My biggest regret is . . . that I failed you one more time. I’m sorry I didn’t do better.”

Death would have made a jibe about him being overly dramatic, but even he could hear the open sincerity in the dying man’s strained voice. “You did your best. Rest now, child.”

“My best . . . wasn’t good enough.” The devil laments miserably before letting his eyes fall shut. But Lucifer decides that if he had to die now, he was happy that at least he had finally gotten that off his chest. He could be happy with the knowledge that he’d put the only truth that ever mattered to him into words. He could die at peace.

Dean stopped fuming off to the side, realising that Lucifer literally had seconds left to live.

The graceless Archangel felt a hand slide into his own and instinctively knew it was Dean’s. Normally, he'd push away such a sappy thing, but it was Dean, his enemy-turned-ally-turned-friend-turned-brother, and this situation is far from normal. He’s dying, for one. Lucifer appreciates this small comfort.

The second thing he felt was another hand, this one ice-cold and much softer. It covered his shut eyes, and as it did the agonising pain melted away. He was blissfully free of suffering for a single second, and then he was gone.

Gone, and he was never coming back. So many possibilities, so many things he could have affected, all extinguished as he exhaled one final time, surrounded not by his birth family, but rather by the family he had become a part of during the past week and a half. He never got to have his talk face-to-face with his father. He never got to resolve his stupid conflict with the brother he loves most. And now he never will.

“No!” A new voice entered the room. My voice. The three hunters looked at me in utter confusion as I pushed them out of the way so I could be at my son’s side. “He can’t be dead. He _can’t._ ”

“Chuck?” I ignore the puzzled exclamation from Sam.

Death stepped back to allow me space to mourn. I loosed a cry of raw grief, taking Lucifer’s limp hand and pressing it to the bridge of my nose. “I forgive you. I forgive you. My beautiful son, I love you too. Don’t go. Come _back._ ” I looked up at the being who stole him from me. “ _Bring him back._ ” The room shook with my anger.

“You know the rules.” Death replies mildly, unafraid of my terrible power. “I cannot. And neither can you, not completely.”

I know he’s right, and I know it’s _my_ fault for not giving Angels souls, for not giving them the kind of back-up-drive that I created for humans. You could only try to copy what you remember of them. Like Castiel created his version of Gabriel (though Gabriel never truly died in the first place, he’s too clever for that). The real Gabriel ran off to the other side of the universe, poking around at the other inhabited planets. If asked, this copy of Gabriel can tell someone that Lucifer killed him, but he’ll know none of the specifics, for he can’t know anything that Castiel doesn’t know. Castiel knows what it’s like to be dead, so he gave Gabriel’s copy that same knowledge. He knows that Gabriel spent a lot of time with humanity, so he gave him a vast bank of pop culture knowledge, courtesy of the things he’s heard Dean and Sam say. He knew Gabriel before humanity was created, so Gabriel remembers those things as well. Castiel wanted an ally, so Gabriel feels personally connected to Castiel more than he ever truly was. He’s a good copy, but far from a perfect one.

Speaking of Castiel, every time I bring him back, (though he is far less complicated than my Archangels) he loses a bit more of himself that I overlooked, and perhaps it’s my fault that he felt he had to go this far to overcome that sense of wrong-ness. Should I do it again, perhaps I will finally grant him a soul, so he loses nothing further.

But most of all, it’s my fault for sending Lucifer on this path in the first place.

Still, I turned my rage elsewhere, unable to cope with the responsibility at the moment. “He wasn’t _done_. Give what’s left of him back so I can heal him!”

“He chose to pass on early, I was merely the door he walked through.” Death intones placatingly. “I can no more bring him back than you can. You know this.”

I rested my forehead on the still chest of my son’s mutilated corpse. If I had only been a second faster after hearing his dying prayer. . . If I had been watching more carefully. . .

The humans were starting to figure out who I really was, but I didn’t care. No, I was going to mourn first, and then perhaps I will address the questions they so obviously have.

They at least allowed me that, and I was grateful for the moment to freely weep over the death of my favourite son. He will never be happy with being brought back. He’ll know he’s incomplete and it will drive him mad all over again.

There has to be a way. He was so _close_ to redemption. He proved that he can grow, that he can overcome his pride. He died too _soon_. It’s not _right_.

I remain silent for a long moment. It’s Dean who broke the quiet, reflecting my own thoughts. “Why did he have to die?”

Death’s answer was preceded by a tired hum. “You shouldn’t be so surprised, Dean. Being your friend is a sure death sentence.”

“Is this all a joke to you?” Dean growls back, tempted to throw caution to the wind and punch Death in the face.

The ancient being met Dean’s ire with a delicately arched eyebrow. “Dead serious.”

I stood, interrupting their conversation. “I won’t allow this. He can’t be gone.” I release my son’s unresponsive hand as I straighten up. “I’m going to fix this. Rules be damned. The only way to save him is to prevent him from dying.”

Death raised a sceptical brow in my direction. “You can’t be serious. Fate will have a fit.”

“Fate can go screw herself.” I answer rashly, gritting my teeth as I focus my power in order to find the defining moment, the one decision I must change in order to keep him alive.

Time is a web of twisting paths, many of which lead in the same direction, for time is a stubborn thing which does not like to change. But occasionally there are little points—infinitesimally small split-second decisions which can truly change the course history takes.

My only regret is that no one, not even myself, will remember anything that happened during this timeline.

Finally, I found it. Further back than I’d like, but there it was. The one thing I could change that would keep my most beloved son relatively safe and sound.

And without further ado, I twisted it to the other path.

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**\- Twelve Days Previously -**

Before the beginning, God created the Archangels.

They were great and terrible creatures of beauty and immense strength, designed to guard the heavens and the earth. When together, they were an unstoppable force of good and God’s will. They were simultaneously Heaven’s most deadly weapons, and her brightest beacons of hope and love.

They also fought amongst each other, and the brightest of them all betrayed his father.

The New God did not make the same mistake as his predecessor. He left those finicky and powerful beings locked away and dormant, away from the world he planned to perfect.

Lucifer and Michael remained in the cage, safely trapped in the deepest pit of hell.

 

**_fin._ **

\- - -

**Bonus:**

**Actual lines from the actual outline for this chapter:**

**\- Emotional last words from Luci (No apology tho b/c my stubborn rebel baby will be right all the way to his grave.)**  
\- _LUCIFER DIESSSSSS!!!_ D: D: D: D: ;-;  
\- everyone is super-duper sad n stuff  
\- God too b/c he shows up TOO LATE TO SAVE HIS REBEL BBY B/C HE SUCKSSSSSS (don’t 4get 1 st person omniscient pov- have Andrew proofread)  
\- But not Death. Death’s never sad. Death don’t care about ur puny existence.  
\- For Example:  
     - Dean: Why did my homeboy have to diiiiieeeee????????? D:  
     - Death: lol dean u know all ur friends die. *eats junk food*  
     - *Dean gets out his AAAANGRY EYESSSS*  
\- Example #2:  
     - Chuck: BRING MY PRECIOUS BABY BACK YOU SMUG BASTARD. HE’S MY FAAAAAAV B/C IT’S SUPER HEALTHY TO PLAY FAVOURITES WITH CHILDREN. YEP. TOTALLY.  
     - Death: Lol no way bruh u know the rulez. Can’t. Pretty-boy is mine now.  
\- Example #3:  
     - Trump: I can haz wall?  
     - Death: K, but only one wall per customer.  
     - (don’t actually put this one in – does not support point)  
\- Shameless use of Deus ex Machina  
\- Mindfuck everyone  
     - Timey-Wimey Spacey-Wacey stuff  
     - Repeat first scene of story  
     - Time travel, man.  
     - Story is now 100% canon-compliant  
\- Profit

**. . . As you can see, I’m not a very serious writer. Not when I outline, anyways.**

**Don’t skip out on the outtakes chapter, there are some real gems in there, I think!**

**IfYouHateMeI'mDoingItRight**


	12. Extra - Outtakes

**{Possible epilogue? I based this on a conversation I cut out of Lucifer’s first meeting with Bobby, where he compared Lucifer to Castiel. Obviously, it didn’t make sense, given the ended I decided on, but I wrote this _well_ before that, with the intention of just having them get Castiel to do what he did in the show, and having the archangels help against the Leviathan.}**

A flutter of feathers was the only warning Bobby got before Lucifer appeared at his side. It had been a while. . . Close to a month since he’d last seen the former archangel. Since the Leviathan fiasco began. He’d heard a few things from the boys, about hits they suspected was his doing, but he honestly hadn't expected the devil to come back here.

Lucifer started speaking without preamble. “How did you know?”

Bobby blinked, caught off-guard. “Hi, nice to see you too. How did I know _what_?”

Lucifer shot him a look that said ‘don’t fuck with me right now’. “You knew, before. You said ‘ _if’,_ remember? Somehow, you knew I’d end up being. . .” He frowned, searching for the right word. “being _fond_ of you morons. That’s what you meant, right? So tell me. How. Did. You. Know?”

Ah, so that’s what this is about. Bobby laughs to himself, remembering the conversation. “Because my boys have that effect on people. Because Dean gave you the ‘don’t give up’ speech. Because you were just like Castiel was.”

A scowl immediately darkens the devil’s face. “I am _nothing_ like—”

Bobby cut him off before he could finish. “Yes, ya were. I know ya don’t want to hear it, but ya were. You were playing guard dog for a boss the three of you were conspirin’ against. And you think you’re the first Angel they tried that extortion stunt with? Think again. You felt helpless, and you were at an all-time low. You’re as grumpy as you are clever. You were disrespectful, tactless, and entirely out of touch with social cues. Still are, ta be honest. The only difference is, you’d already gone through your God-complex phase.”

Lucifer’s scowl didn’t lessen, but Bobby suspected it had more to do with his need to be contrary, rather than out of real disagreement. The fallen angel’s snapped response only confirmed his suspicions. “You’re right, I don’t want to hear it. Nice talk. See you around.”

He turned to take off, but Bobby stopped him. “Wait.”

Lucifer stays half-turned away. “What, Singer?”

Bobby put a hand on his shoulder. “Just, keep up the good work. I'm proud of you. And visit this old man once in a while, ya hear?”

Lucifer quickly turned away, but Bobby didn’t miss his smile. “Yeah, okay. . . Sir.” And with that, he flew off to God-only-knows where, leaving Bobby with a smile on his weathered face.

“. . . Idjit.” Bobby remarks fondly, going back to his thus-far fruitless Leviathan research.

~ ~ ~

**{I originally intended to have the contract actually written to completion just before Castiel showed up, but decided that timing was a little too convenient to be plausible. Here’s the (pre-edited/finalised, I apologise in advance) scene before I cut it out. The contract itself is much shorter than it would have been had I decided to use this scene.}**

The Archangels came back inside just as Crowley was finishing up the (as he was fondly calling it) mother-of-all-contracts.

Gabriel took it, reading through the terms and snapping his fingers to add in a few lines before handing it back to Crowley, who nodded in acquiescence. Sam and Dean both nodded their approval, and then the contract was given to Lucifer to sign.  
  
_Contract Concerning **Lucifer** , Former Archangel of Heaven  
Written by Crowley, Current King of Hell_

_(Edited by Gabriel, Archangel of judgement and pagan god of practical jokes)_

_Upon the signing of this contract in blood, the being currently known as Lucifer (The Morningstar, The Devil, The Serpent, Satan, etc.) will adhere to the following terms indefinitely:_  
  
i) No violent actions are to be taken against humans.  
              a. For the purposes of this contract, the term ‘Human’ refers to any being with a soul.  
              b. ‘Violent actions’ include any and all means of causing harm to an individual or group with malicious intent.  
              c. Ordering/persuading another being to carry out a violent action is equivalent to the signer carrying out the violent action.  
              d. This condition is temporarily voided in the instance that a human becomes a valid threat to the signer, or any being the signer wishes to protect from harm. (~Gabriel)  
ii) No intentional destruction of any kind.  
              a. This condition is temporarily voided in the instance that destruction is necessary for the signer’s survival, or the survival of any being the signer wishes to protect from harm. (~Gabriel)  
iii) All authority in the realm currently known as ‘Hell’ is to be relinquished.  
iv) The language of this contract is to be interpreted in the way it was defined at the time it was signed.  
  
Failure to adhere to these terms will result in the signer’s immediate entrapment within the cage designed by God to contain His Former Archangel, the being currently known as Lucifer.  
  
X_________________  
  
  
Lucifer read over the terms twice, taking his time. To his surprise, he didn’t find them entirely unreasonable. They were chains, he understood that much, but they were much looser chains than he had expected. He had, after all, done very little to endear himself to the Winchesters.

With a resigned sigh, he prepared himself to sign it, but was halted by the sudden appearance of Castiel.

Castiel, who looked far from pleased.

**{Additionally, Lucifer later on had a comment about it, saying to Dean; “If it’s any consolation, the contract wouldn’t have worked. You didn’t say I couldn’t take people’s souls, which by definition, would make them no longer human. . . . I _love_ loopholes.” But since he had never seen the finished contract, I had to cut that out too.}**

~ ~ ~

**{I wrote this in after the contract failed, and before Lucifer “formally” meets Bobby. When Sam went to the kitchen to grab a beer. I cut it out because it disrupted the flow of the story, and because I wasn’t really pleased with Lucifer being so ‘nice’ this early on. Also, I realised that Dean doesn’t know about Sam’s hallucinations yet. Death reveals that to him later.}**

Lucifer looked away first, turning his attention towards the kitchen curiously. After a second of listening to something Dean couldn’t hear, he rolled off the recliner and trotted off towards the source of the noise. “Sam, It’s not real.”

Dean, suddenly realising what was going on, quickly followed.

Sam looked between thin air and Lucifer, obviously confused. Real-Lucifer cocked a brow at him. “It’s just a hallucination, Sam. I'm right here. He’s not real.”

Sam didn’t seem convinced. “. . . He says the same thing about you.”

". . . Of course he does." Lucifer gripes, temporarily thrown for a loop.

Dean jumps in with his own question. “What else does he say about all. . .” He gestures vaguely. “This?”

Sam starts to answer, then shoots that spot in the air a sharp glare. “Yeah. Sure.” His tone drips with insincerity, and he turns back to Lucifer and Dean. “He says this is all just an illusion he’s built up in my head. That I’m still in the cage.”

Lucifer raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really. And why the hell would I go to all the trouble to do that?”

Sam pauses, listening to something they can’t hear, his frown deepening. “Because. . . Because it’s fun to build up my hope, make me think I'm free, and then tear it all down again.”

Dean smirks at the fallen Archangel. “Wow. Fake-you sounds almost as dramatic as you do.”

“Ha-Ha. You’re hilarious.” Lucifer deadpans, rolling his eyes. “I think that you,” He addresses Sam, “believe that I care about messing with you way more than I actually do.” He paused as an idea occurred to him. “But fine, say he’s the real one, and I’m the fake. If I’m an invention of his, why can only you see him?”

Dean joined in, catching on to Lucifer’s point. “Make him prove it. Make him show himself to us.”

Sam considered this, then turned expectantly to the hallucination. After a moment, he shrugs. “You’re gonna tear it down eventually anyways, right? Why wait?” A few more seconds, and Sam finally smiled, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank God.”

“Excuse you, God didn’t help, I did.” Lucifer huffs indignantly. “Ingrate.” And with that, he stalked back out of the kitchen (probably to sulk while finding new ways to abuse chairs).

“Force of habit. Thanks, Satan.” Sam snorts, and Dean shakes his head, trying not to laugh. Lucifer tosses them both the middle finger, causing Dean’s grin to widen.

Lucifer resolves to ignore the idiots. Speaking of idiots. . . “Where’s the old man?”

~ ~ ~

**{Remember the ‘Lucifer, beg for your life’ scene? This is how it was originally written. Enjoy.}**

Lucifer barely had time to react (let alone do anything) between Michael suddenly screaming at him, and Castiel’s appearance at his side. He just thanked his lucky stars that the jar was indoors, and he hadn’t touched it.

Presently, he was on the roof of Singer’s home, one set of his wings out so that he could groom them. As he pulled out feathers, he stuffed them into a pocket inside his jacket. He had been absentmindedly humming ‘stairway to heaven’ to himself. It was strangely relaxing.

Castiel was giving him a look he couldn't quite place.

Lucifer stood abruptly. “Castiel.” He dropped the feather in his hand, deciding not to let Castiel know what he was really doing. “The Winchesters are inside, looking for something to hunt.”

Castiel said nothing.

“I just. . . Needed to take a break. I apologise.” He continued, wings folding behind him in a physical show of his growing anxiety.

Finally, the brunette blinked. “Spread your wings.”

“. . . What?” Surely, he didn’t hear that right. His next thought was vaguely along the lines of ‘well shit, this can't mean anything good.’

“You heard me.” The younger stepped forward, that odd look still on his face.

"But, why--"

“Lucifer.”

Deciding it was probably best not to argue, Lucifer obeyed, stretching the onyx-feathered appendages out as far as they could reach to either side. As the sunlight caught them, the edges of his feathers hinted at a myriad of colours, a quality that even falling from heaven couldn’t completely remove from his once-opalescent wings.

Castiel reached forward to run a hand along the bend of his left wing, and Lucifer remained stock-still. The close proximity allowed him to clearly see the black lines crawling up his brother’s neck. “Blackened, but still so beautiful. I see why you were His favourite.”

It was more than that, Lucifer wants to protest. Yes, he was beautiful, but that wasn’t why Father loved him most. It wasn’t. “Why did you come?” He inquires instead.

The question seemed to shake Castiel somewhat. “Michael has Heaven in order, and we—” He suddenly stopped, narrowing his eyes. “You smell like sulphur.”

Lucifer froze. Of course he did, he had a fucking archdemon all pressed up against him. “I—”

Castiel breathed deeply, and his expression hardened further. Before Lucifer could react, or even finish his sentence, there was a hand pressed to his cheek, and Castiel’s thumb was running across his (damnit) kiss-swollen bottom lip.

“Explain.” Castiel growls darkly. “And I want the whole truth, Lucifer, or so help me, I will smite you where you stand.”

The devil swallows, not doubting that Castiel spoke the truth. He took half a second to collect himself. No need to sound guilty, he can do this. “The Winchesters needed hellfire for a spell. You told me not to leave them, so I called a demon I trust in order to get it for them. He is an incubus, and therefore wanted a kiss, so I gave him one. The demon is gone, and is no threat to the Winchesters. I made him swear to secrecy. The hellfire is safely contained.” Short, simple, truthful. His voice didn’t waver.

Castiel’s anger did not abate, but he didn’t move to smite Lucifer, so the latter took that as a good sign. Lucifer had to wait for what felt like hours before Castiel spoke. He had the sneaking suspicion that Castiel wasn’t the only one speaking. “I don't think you understand, Lucifer, what exactly I meant when I had you pledge yourself to me. You are mine now. In every sense. It is not for you to decide if a demon may kiss you or not. It is not for you to decide if you need a break from the Winchesters, or not.” With this, he pointedly gripped the edge of the wing his hand still rested on, nearly tight enough to snap the hollow bone beneath. “Your life belongs to me. You belong to me.”

Lucifer’s (well, Nick’s, really) heart beat wildly in his chest, fear crawling under his skin. Never in his life had he felt so helpless, had he ever had his control stripped from him in this way.

A beat of silence, and Castiel released his wing, but not his face. Fingers were pressed painfully into his bruise.

It was a bad idea, but he met Castiel’s harsh gaze with his own, unable to hide the look of defiance that comes so naturally to him.

Another beat, and the hand slipped into his hair. Before he knew what was happening, Castiel’s lips were pressed to his, hard and punishing. Like a kiss, but forced—and distinctly lacking the most important components of one. It didn’t seem to matter to the seraph that Lucifer refused to participate. He dominated the action, forcing Lucifer’s lips apart.

It was a truly terrible idea, but Lucifer wasn’t thinking of the consequences. He bit down on Castiel’s lip, refusing to just let himself be. . . Be used like that.

Castiel bled black.

That’s all he registered before the younger slapped him, hard. The already-injured side of his face stung and flared with renewed pain from the force of it. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out like before, though. This wound went no deeper than his vessel, and Lucifer had to wonder at Castiel’s reasoning for it. For the second time that day, Lucifer tasted iron, and this time he felt a trickle of blood running down from the corner of his lips. But he stayed on his feet, and that’s what was ultimately most important to him.

“You will not heal yourself until I tell you to.” The shorter but somehow more imposing man ordered. Ah. So that’s why it only went vessel-deep. This was some sort of obedience bullshit.

Lucifer said nothing, gave no indication that he had heard, but did not heal himself. He simply glared silently at the younger. There was no trace of the black blood on Castiel’s lip anymore.

The second hit caught him by surprise, and Lucifer stumbled. Another vessel-deep hit, this time a back-handed slap to the other side of his face. What did he do wrong now?

“You will speak when you are spoken to.” Castiel ordered, voice dangerously soft.

Lucifer spit blood to the side. Everything about this was wrong, so wrong. “Understood.” Came his obligatory response, grinding the word out against his will. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Better.” If the other’s tone was a fraction gentler, Lucifer couldn’t tell over the blood pounding in his vessel’s ears. “It seems that you can learn.” The (now-dreaded) voice was amused now, dangerously so. “Once I have cleansed this planet, I will enjoy teaching you your place.”

Lucifer shivered. He had to remind himself that wasn’t Castiel. This. . . Thing that looked like his brother would never get that far. He barely remembered to respond, and his voice fell flat, the intended sarcasm becoming lost. “I can’t wait.”

That earned him a mildly terrifying chuckle. “Eager, I like that. Very well.” Lucifer finally looked up, cursing his smart mouth. The look on Castiel’s face gave him cause for worry. “If you must be so impatient, lesson one begins now. Kiss me, and no biting this time.”

Lucifer blinked, not moving. “I didn’t mean—”

Castiel shut him up with a look. “Kiss me, and do not make me repeat myself again.”

The sting of his injuries and Castiel’s threat still fresh in his mind, Lucifer swallowed his (by now very much so) injured pride and stepped forward. He was walking on very thin ice, and he knew it. The devil tried not to think about this as he closed his eyes and leaned in, pressing his lips to Castiel’s just enough to be called a kiss.

When the slap came, he was unprepared, and gave a small, involuntary gasp of pain. He stared at Castiel with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

“Like you mean it, brother.” Castiel growled out, barely controlled anger shining in the blue fire (and are those black veins?) of his eyes. “Again.”

Unlike before, Lucifer did not argue. He was tired of being slapped around, belittled, and treated like he was less than nothing by this once-Angel. This Monster. Lucifer just wanted this special brand of hell to end.

If that means sucking it up and playing the obedient pet, then so be it. (At least he knows it won’t be forever.)

He tried again, kissing the monster for all he's worth. He pressed against the brunette, cradling Castiel’s head with one hand as he fit their lips together. Not allowing himself to think about it, he parted their lips and dipped his forked tongue into the cavity of Castiel’s mouth, caressing the other’s tongue with his own—

Another slap. "Better. Again."

It took another three goes, and Lucifer kissing Castiel (with only minimal assistance from the younger’s end) like his life depended on it (which it did) before the latter was satisfied. Hell, Lucifer just did things with his tongue that he had never even considered possible before.

Castiel indicated for him to stop with a tap to his shoulder.

Oh, if Father could see him now. How low he has fallen.

“Acceptable.” Castiel finally spoke, looking unfairly unruffled, while Lucifer stood there, blood trickling down his chin, Lips shining and swollen, and fresh bruises littering his face. Nothing was said for a moment, and then Castiel reached for Lucifer’s face. The elder flinched, causing the younger to laugh darkly. “Relax.” His hand cupped Lucifer’s jaw, and as he wiped the blood from the blonde’s chin, Lucifer felt the pain fade to nothing. Castiel healed him completely, then patted his cheek. “Better?”

The Archangel swallowed his sigh of relief as the hand drew back. “Yes.”

“Tch. Manners, Lucifer.”

The devil briefly shut his eyes, as if praying for strength. “Thank you, Castiel.”

A pleased hum preceded Castiel’s response. “There, was that so hard?”

“No.” Lucifer fought not to spit the word out, glaring at the roof he was standing on. If only it would swallow him up and take him away from this depraved creature. Anywhere would be better than here.

Well, almost anywhere. He still prefers this over his cage.

He could hear the smirk in Castiel’s voice. “I didn’t think so. Now, put away your wings and come with me, our family is waiting.”

Lucifer was glad to return his wings to their proper place. “Of course.”

The two angels disappeared in a muted ruffle of feathers.

**{See why I changed it? If you read that all the way through. . . I hope you enjoyed it, ya sick fuck.**

**Real talk though; I don’t have a problem with this scene by _itself_. I originally decided to do it this way to give the punishment a sense of ‘poetic justice’, I guess? But when paired with what this story is really meant to be, I feel like this version of the scene distracted too much from its purpose; which is to prompt a development in Lucifer’s character. This scene existed as a catalyst, and as the author, I felt the change was necessary in order put the emphasis on how it _affected_ Lucifer, rather than the (honestly kind of rape-y) scene itself. I’m not sure if I’m explaining it right, but there it is.}**

~ ~ ~

**{This was just a fun scene I thought of, but knew was never going to fit well into the story. I wrote it for the lolz to de-stress after a double-exam day. It goes somewhere during the drive Sam, Dean, and Lucifer take to the Vamp Nest.}**

Ugh. Cars are slow.

That’s about all Lucifer’s gotten out of this trip so far. Well. That, and enthusiastic duets with Dean on the songs “Don’t stop believing” and “Stayin’ Alive”.  It turns out that their tastes in music are remarkably similar, though while Dean is definitely more of a rock-and-roll kinda guy, Lucifer tends to prefer disco. Still, there are plenty of songs from that era which appeal to both of them. Dean thought it was hilarious that Lucifer knew all the words to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”. Sam was incredibly done with both of them. “Under Pressure” hasn't even come on yet. Lucifer’s just waiting for AC/DC’s “Big Balls” or Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel”, so he can _really_ blow Dean away.

Not that he cares about impressing a human, or anything.

Ahem. The point is, cars are slow. And Lucifer is bored to hell and back.

And not only that, but now they’ve _stopped_ , (well, Dean did leave the car running. He said he’d only be a minute) so Dean can buy a slice of pie and some beers. Apparently Angel-mojo food ‘doesn't _taste_ the same’. Hmph.

Sam was currently napping in the back, since he apparently hasn't had a decent night’s sleep since Castiel broke the wall against his memories of the cage. But the hallucination-Lucifer (which he had mentally dubbed ‘hallucifer’) was quiet when his real-world counterpart is nearby. So, by virtue of being nearby, Lucifer was unintentionally helping Sam. He’s slept like a rock for the past hour and a half. At least the large human didn't snore.

So; bored, and a natural trouble-maker, Lucifer hopped over the console and into the driver’s seat. To him, it didn’t seem any more interesting than the passenger seat did, but hey. Dean said Driver picks the music, and he wants to listen to some Bees Gees, or Tower of Power. Hence; driver’s seat.

He kept the volume turned low, flipping through the radio stations as he looked for something he liked.

Dean ripping open the passenger-side door came as a total surprise. The hunter dove in, slamming the door shut just in time to prevent a fanged store clerk from following him inside. “DRIVE.”

A quick glance behind them (since vampires don't show up in mirrors) showed several more of the monsters chasing Dean out of the store. Lucifer’s eyebrows rose drastically as he looked at the foreign controls in front of him. “I don't know how!”

“You’re like, six billion years old! How do you not know how to drive?!”

“I can _fly_ , why would I need to?!”

“Son of a-- Fine, then switch with me!” A vampire jumped on the hood. “Never mind, not enough time. Right pedal to go, left pedal to stop. Steering wheel; self-explanatory. Now, GO!” Dean pointed in the direction of each item as he explained its purpose, and then shifted the car into drive for him.

This is the most excitement he’s had all day. Repeating the rudimentary instructions to himself, he grasped the steering wheel and stepped on it. Lucky for them, Dean had only pulled up to the nearly-abandoned (and that really should have been their first clue) gas station, and they were facing the exit to the street when the car shot forward. Lucifer just barely turned in time to orient himself correctly on the road, sending the vampire on their hood flying off into the stop sign across the street.

This would probably be more fun if A: he knew what the hell he was doing, and B: they weren’t running from Vampires.

. . . Wait. . .

“Hold on, why am I running from these lightweights?” Lucifer didn't stop the car though, focusing on slowing to a speed where he can take the next turn without flipping the car over. Huh. Driving is hard. Who knew?

The hunter beside him was fighting to buckle himself in. “Because we’re not ready for a fight, and you can't guarantee that you can keep me, Sam, and Bobby’s car safe while fighting all of those fangs. There’s more than we thought.” Sam was awake again and wildly trying to figure out what was going on.

The archangel gave an offended huff. ‘I can totally do all that. How dare you underestimate me.’ He didn't voice his argument, however. (Dean’s right. He can't guarantee their safety.)

And, as fate would have it, he never finished changing the station to something he liked. The ad ended, and the next song on that station started up. Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus take the Wheel”.

Adding insult to injury. Fate is a real bitch.

Even though the song wasn't really his style, Dean got a laugh out of the irony of it. Asshole.

**~ ~ ~**

**{Here’s another one that I took out because it took away from how tough and imposing Lucifer is supposed to be, as a character. It was supposed to go somewhere during that week-long time-skip, before I decided I didn’t have enough scenes that progressed the plot/weren’t just Lucifer fan-service and made it a time-skip. Enjoy!}**

It was some ungodly hour of the early morning that Dean woke up from his nightmare. The sun hadn’t even broken over the horizon yet.

He would’ve gone right back to sleep (it was just that stupid recurring dream where he’s in an airplane and it crashes), but as he closed his eyes to dose off again, he heard something. Someone’s voice, coming from outside.

Dean wouldn’t have thought anything more of it, since it’s almost definitely just Lucifer doing whatever it is he does while the humans sleep, but there was this quality to his voice, and it made Dean feel both warm and safe, and heart-achingly sad.

Before he realised that he’d even stood up, he was standing by the window, pulling it open so he could hear it better. As he listened, Dean began to realise it was a song.

The words were sung in a language Dean didn’t speak, but somehow, he unconsciously knew what the song was about.

It was about family, and loss, and longing, and before Dean knew what was happening, he felt tears stain his cheeks.

So this is what it’s like to hear an angel sing.

The lilting cadence of Lucifer’s voice touched Dean’s soul, the words vibrating with a power that the human couldn’t see. Dean stood frozen at his window, listening to the entrancing music.

Lucifer didn’t seem to notice that he had an audience of one, and so he stayed where he was, seated Indian-style on the hood of a busted-up old Dodge. His voice rung clear and true, and Dean wished he could see the fallen Angel’s face.

Dean _knows_ this is a private moment for the normally-aloof and sarcastic angel, but he can’t bring himself to move away from the open window. Hell, he can’t even make himself look away from the blonde swaying as he sings, obviously completely absorbed in his activity.

The hunter was so captivated by Lucifer’s voice, that he barely registered it when another angel appeared at his side. It’s only when he feels a hand on his shoulder that he turns to see Michael, who looks nearly as heartbroken as Dean feels.

Wiping away Dean’s tears, Michael spoke to him gently. “In their true voice, an angel’s song is a powerful thing. You should not listen to such a sad one for long.” The archangel raises his hand to touch Dean’s temple, but Dean dodges away from his touch. “You should let me help you get back to sleep.” Lucifer’s true voice may not be quite as lethal as an unfallen angel’s, but it can still be dangerous in large doses.

The hunter shakes his head as he responds. “No, wait. How did you know I was listening to him? Can you hear him singing over your angel radio-thingy? What’s he singing about?”

Michael releases a small, tired sigh. “Yes, I could hear his singing. We all can. Angels used to sing to pass the time, it’s when we feel most connected to each other. But no one will sing this song with Lucifer. We haven’t heard it since his earlier days in the Cage.” Here Michael pauses, looking out the window sadly as the transfixing song continued. “He’s singing of his fall. I’ve actually been asked to tell him to stop. It’s painful for us to listen to.”

Dean stepped back from the window, unbidden tears still falling freely down his face. “It’s beautiful, though. Sad, but beautiful.”

“To you, perhaps.” Michael shakes his head. “You should hear a _real_ angel sing. Lucifer’s voice is not what it once was.”

Before Dean could protest the matter further, Michael put two fingers to his temple, and Dean instantly passed out. Michael caught him mid-fall to the ground and carried him back to his bed.

Lucifer looked up as Michael appeared beside him; a sorrowful, pained look in his eyes. The devil sighs slightly and stops his singing. “What do you want?” He knows the answer, but that doesn’t mean he can’t wish it was something else.

“Our siblings have requested that you stop.” The elder states gently, but forcefully.

“Well, I request that our siblings go suck a dick.” The devil mumbles spitefully, and then huffs tiredly to himself. “And you? What do you request?”

Michael watches his younger brother carefully, responding softly. “Nothing, brother. I only wish that you had a happier song to sing.”

Lucifer eyes him, not buying it. “So you say. But I heard you speaking to Dean. My voice offends you.”

Before he’s finished speaking, Michael is shaking his head. “It is not your voice, but the reminder of how much I have hurt you, that offends me. I was not clear with my meaning.”

“Hmm.” Lucifer sounded unconvinced, looking away as the sun peeked over the horizon. “So you say.”

Neither archangel says anything further for a moment, watching the sunrise paint the sky with lazy strokes of pinks and lilacs.

Lucifer stretches his legs out on the hood of the derelict old Dodge, nodding once to his brother. “You can assure our sisters and brothers that I will sing no more. I will find other ways to pass the time.” He continues to watch as dawn breaks over Sioux Falls. “Leave me.”

Not wanting to start an argument, and sensing that his brother was in a touchy mood, Michael did.

**~ ~ ~**

**{Another one-week time-skip tidbit. I could almost make another chapter from all of these. I actually didn’t want to take this scene out, but since I didn’t have enough other things to fill that gap with, I ended up making it a time-skip, and this scene didn’t fit elsewhere. So while you could consider some of these outtakes as blooper/gag reel material, this one is more like a deleted scene that was cut because of time constraints.}**

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Dean was tempted to drag Lucifer to church with him, but he decided against it. It’d be cruel, and needlessly so. Dean never went to church anyways, and he’s actually (surprisingly) getting along with the devil now.

Sam left the radio on the Top Country station, but neither of them were feeling motivated enough to go and change it.

Bobby was in town, supposedly doing a supply run, and Sam had gone with him. Leaving Lucifer and Dean on their own at the house. Lucifer was reading some old Latin book, something that Dean’s 99% sure he just arbitrarily picked up off of one of the many stacks of books lining Bobby’s home in order to kill some time. Every now and then he would snort, or roll his eyes as he read.

Dean is researching, looking into the Wyoming case they have yet to figure out. It was mostly busy work at this point, and he wasn’t even sure if they’d end up taking it. The crime scenes were almost too clean, which ruled out most monsters. . . but Dean couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about this case.

Suddenly, he hears a sharp intake of breath from the archangel besides him, and he looks over to see Lucifer staring at something on the page of his book, looking like he’d seen a ghost. (Well, if ghosts were actually frightening to Satan himself.)

“Luce?” Dean raises a brow, leaning over to get a better look at Lucifer’s book. “Everything alright, buddy?”

The Devil wets his lips tentatively, eyes searching the page like it held the answers to Life and Death itself. Dean recognized it, finally, as one of the books Bobby had acquired in order to research the archangels during the apocalypse. Huh. So maybe it wasn’t as random a choice as Dean had originally thought. This was kind of like, really old-school Googling yourself to see what the internet knew about you.

Skimming over the page Lucifer was reading revealed that he was reading about Michael. There’s a full-page illustration included on one page, with a detailed pen-drawing of what must be one of Michael’s earlier vessels from when he was on Earth, back in Biblical times.

The artist’s rendition was amazing, implying that he must have been completely in awe of Michael when he saw him, in order to remember what he looked like in such detail. That, or Michael had posed for him, which Dean found doubtful.

The hunter nudges Lucifer’s shoulder gently, to get his attention. “Dude, you’re starting to freak me out. What’s wrong?”

Lucifer seemed to shake himself out of it with some trouble, glancing at Dean and giving a very forced snort of laughter. “It’s nothing. No big deal.”

Dean just levelled his friend with a highly judgmental look. “Y’know, for the devil, you’re a pretty shitty liar sometimes. Spill.”

Chewing his lower lip, Lucifer seems to consider whether he should just tell Dean to fuck off and mind his own business or not. After a second, he decides that telling the hunter can’t really hurt, so he points to something hanging from Michael’s belt in the drawing.

“It’s just, this.” He says hesitantly, giving Dean a furtive glance. “I mean, most of the stuff in this book is bullshit, but he gets a couple things right, every now and then. And then there’s this. I mean, it could just be nothing, but it looks exactly like. . .” Lucifer shakes his head. “It’s stupid, I’d just bore you.”

“No, go on.” Dean coaxes, now fully invested. He doesn’t have anything better to do anyways, right? Why not discuss old-ass lore books about Archangels with Satan? “What does it look like?”

Lucifer runs a hand through his short, blonde hair, frowning at the book like it offended him. He leans back on the couch before answering. “I’ll have to give you a little context for it to make sense, but it’s my bag.”

Rather than interrupt, Dean stays quiet, nodding to let Lucifer know he’s listening.

“. . . Okay, so back before you guys came around, before Dad made Earth and everything humanity knows, it was just us Archangels, Dad, and the things he’d create. He’d make stars, Suns, Galaxies, all sorts of bright and beautiful things. Things in the fourth and fifth dimensions that you can’t possibly hope to comprehend. He made colours, light, dark, song, silence, you name it. And I, _I_ was his favourite.”

Lucifer’s tone is a confusing mess of bitterness and fondness. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “You know how children are. I loved my Father, and I wanted to be _just_ like him. He was perfection, my idol, my sun, my moon, and my stars. He was everything to me. So I tried to create things too. I. . . wasn’t very good at it. Not like my brothers were. My brothers and father have always been the ones that were good at snapping things up out of thin air. I never seemed to be capable of that particular feat. I stuck to manipulation of reality, and I thought it was good enough.”

Dean says silent, completely absorbed in the story Lucifer tells, very aware of the fact that he’s possibly the first human to hear about the time before Creation, and almost definitely the first to hear it from _Lucifer’s_ lips.

“I have a theory as to why that is, but it’s unrelated to my point. Anyways. My mental block against creation of matter never stopped me from trying anyways. I collected stardust, light, all kinds of things, and I got to work. And what I made, for lack of a better description, was a bag. A bag that could hold anything. It was small, but it contained a rip in space within it, so it was endlessly big within.”

“Like the TARDIS?” Dean interrupts, unable to help himself.

Rather than being annoyed, Lucifer gave a soft snort of agreement. “Yeah, actually. It was bigger on the inside. Like the TARDIS. Anyways, I was so proud of what I’d done, so I went straight to my father to show him. I wanted to give it to him, see, but he was busy. Making Earth.”

He pauses, his nose briefly wrinkling in a show of distaste. “And don’t believe what the Bible says. It wasn’t made in seven days. No, Dad went through and painstakingly designed each tiny little aspect of his pet planet. And he was so focused on his work, he just brushed me off when I tried to show him what I’d made.”

“I mean, I guess I can see why he told me to come back later. He was really passionate about it.” Lucifer did his best not to sound hurt, and failed. “But back then, I didn’t understand. And when Father refused to drop what he was doing and talk to me, I ran off to Michael. Michael made time for me, looked at what I’d made, and praised me for it. I gave the bag to him. But. . .”

And here, Lucifer trailed off, looking at the picture of his brother once again. “We had a fight. It wasn’t quite the _fall_ or Apocalypse-level fighting, but it was close. I can’t even remember why we were mad at each other, now. . .” He traces the drawing with his finger. “I think I started it. You have to understand, things were by no means peachy until humanity came along. My rebellion was a long time coming, and humans were just the straw the broke the camel’s back, as it were. Michael and I fought, hard and often.”

“But we had this fight, this _idiotic_ fight, and I told him I wished he wasn’t my brother, and he just. . . He said he wished I’d never been created, and he threw that bag at me, told me I could keep the damn thing. And I, angry idiot that I was, just threw it down God-knows-where, and flew off to cool down. But here. . .” Lucifer points to the picture again. “It may just be a coincidence, but the details look too similar for it to be chance. I think. . . I think this is the bag. I think he went back and found it, after that fight. But. . . But that would mean. . .”

“That he still cares about you?” Dean completes the thought, looking suddenly very old. And maybe a little guilty? “He does, Lucifer. You’re his brother. No matter what stupid shit you do, what hurtful things either of you say. . . You’re always going to be his brother. You have to know that, by now.”

Lucifer is shaking his head before Dean can finish talking. “I wanted to believe that, for a long time. . . but Michael and I passed the point of no return millennia ago. This isn’t like you and Sam. If you thought your fight with Sam before he killed Lilith was bad. . . imagine that, but a hundred times worse, day after day after day, for decades. Michael and I can’t be fixed. More likely, he just thought the bag was useful, so he went and made one just like it. Or maybe he had someone find mine for him.”

Dean contemplates the pros and cons of slapping Satan. He decides against it. “Do you hear yourself, Luce? ‘Likely’? ‘Maybe’? Why are you trying so hard to convince yourself he doesn’t care? Why don’t you ask him about it, let _him_ tell you for himself?”

“Because if I let myself think, even for a second, that we can be fixed. . .” Lucifer makes a kind of strangled sound in the back of his throat, and he shuts the book, setting it aside. “If I have any doubt in my mind that our problems can be solved another way. . . I can’t fight him. I won’t be able to do it. I gave him a chance, at Stull. I asked him to walk away with me, to stop the senseless fighting. He denied me. He called me a monster, and told me it was his _sacred duty_ to put me down. Millennium after Millennium, suffering in that _God-forsaken_ pit in Hell, paying for my ‘crime’ tenfold and then some, and he still thinks I haven’t learned my lesson.”

Dean was struck silent by the level of pain and sorrow in Lucifer’s voice. He hadn’t seen that part, before he’d made it on scene. It hurt to imagine, knowing what he does now.

Lucifer blinked several times in succession, refusing to allow tears to form. Michael’s words can’t hurt him, not anymore. “So I can’t allow myself the luxury of thinking there’s a chance, because it’s obvious that he doesn’t think so. I’m going to be forced to fight him eventually, whether I want it or not. Maybe as soon as Castiel’s gone, maybe centuries from now, long after your time. If I hesitate, even for a split second, I’ll lose. And I _don’t_ want to die. I’ve lived this long, I’ve done my waiting, I will _not_ be defeated by him, and _especially_ not by my own sentiments.”

Dean’s voice was gentle when he responded. “I get it. I do. But, I still think you should try to talk to him. You’ve both been in the cage now. Maybe things are different. Maybe they never changed, only now he knows that following orders isn’t the only way.” Dean fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket a bit, and gets a small pocket open, pulling out an oddly-shaped pendant on a leather cord. “I mean. . . Sure, you’re not exactly the same as us. Obviously. But. . . your bag, and this amulet, they mean the same things to Michael and I, and to you and Sam.” He fingers the pendant, looking down at it. “Sam and I died a few times during the apocalypse. But one time, we remembered it. And Sam. . . his heaven was nothing like mine. My Heaven was full of nights alone with my brother, PB&Js with my mom, that kind of thing. Sam’s was. . . Running away, Thanksgiving with strangers, some of the worst nights of my life, were some of his best. I was angry at him when we came back. I thought he’d rather have a dog and a 2-liter of Mr Pibb than me, and I was hurt. So when we got back, and Castiel gave this back to me. . . I threw it away, right in front of him. I know it was mean, and I know he can’t control what made him happy, but I was just, so _mad_. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him back. So I threw it away, and then later on I asked Castiel to take me back so I can get it. It took some convincing, but he did, and I’ve kept it close ever since. Sam doesn’t know I have it, but after seeing how much that bag means to you. . . I think I should probably start wearing it again.” And with that, Dean loops the worn leather cord around his neck, and despite not having worn it in over a year, it still looks perfectly in-place on Dean’s chest.

Lucifer’s eyes were locked on the amulet, recognizing it from Sam’s memories. He _knew_ Dean was telling the truth, that the odd accessory meant the world to Sam, that Dean had worn it every day after Sam gave it to him, until the day Castiel asked for it. His eyes went downcast, and he picked at a loose thread in the couch. “I. . . Dean, I can’t. I mean, say you’re right, and he cared enough to go and look for it, to keep it all this time. Great. But what if you’re _wrong_? I can’t take that kind of rejection. Not again, Dean. I just. . . I _can’t_.”

Dean found himself putting a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, in almost identical fashion to how he would when having a moment with Sam. “You’ll never know if you don’t ask, Lucifer. I personally don’t believe that you and Michael are as hopeless as you think.” He gives the archangel’s shoulder a brief shake. “And you’re definitely not a monster. I’ve seen monsters, Lucifer, and you’ve made some crappy choices, but that doesn’t make you a monster. You made mistakes, and you feel remorse for what’s happened to your family. That just makes you. . . for lack of a better word, human.”

Lucifer turned to give him an affronted look. “I am _not_ \--”

 “I know you’re not. But just listen, okay?” Dean squeezes the other’s shoulder gently. “Being human is more than just a species, or needing to eat, or requiring sleep, and all the little inconveniences you find so tedious. Being human means making mistakes, learning from them, getting a little better every day. Being human is having and using free will. So like it or not, you’re human too, Lucifer.”

Dean pats the contemplative angel’s shoulder before removing his hand and going back to his research. “Okay? Good talk.”

The devil was silent for several more moments, torn between smiting Dean just on principal for insinuating that he was anything other than perfect, and actually considering Dean’s explanation. Treating humanity more as an idea, than a species. Making him technically the first ‘human’.

It hurt his head.

Lucifer eyes Dean out of the corner of his eye as he picks his book back up. “. . . If you say so. Any way I can convince you to mindfuck Michael for me?”

Dean gives the devil a sly smile. “Make me a pie?”

The ex-archangel huffs quietly. “I just might.”

**{. . . Yeah. I wasn’t 100% sure how to end it, exactly. I was really sad that I couldn’t fit it into the fic, because I really liked the parallel between the Winchesters and Michael &Lucifer. (btwThePieWouldHaveBeenAnApplePieAndLuciferWouldBeSoSmugAboutIt) not only that, but I feel like Lucifer and Michael didn’t get enough reconciliation in this fic, and I really liked this because it _shows_ that beyond a shadow of a doubt, Michael still cares. Because the Stull Cemetery scene done fucked Lucifer up, I mean, you saw what Michael said. It was awful. MY POOR BABY. LUCI LET ME LOVE YOU  <3\. Michael was just a mean meanie pants. But he also admitted to not wanting to fight Lucifer, so I think he’s actually a lot more complicated that the show makes him out to be. I dunno. I have so many feels about Michael and Lucifer.}**

**{Additional things I would have written in relation to this scene:**  
\- Sam walking back in and seeing Dean wearing the Samulet again.  
\- Dean bringing the bag thing up to Michael when he’s chewing Lucifer’s brothers out.  
\- Lucifer making weird looks at and generally just being awkward around Michael.  
              - Michael getting fed up with Lucifer acting all weird so he just goes like ‘CAN I HELP YOU?’  
              - Lucifer ‘nope’-ing it the hell out of there when Michael notices his weirdness.  
              - Gabriel asking wth is wrong with his bro; Dean saying Lucifer googled himself. Gabriel thinks that’s hilarious, assumes Lucifer found out about the Michifer shippers from Supernatural.  
\- Sad Michael internal monologue about how he searched and searched for the bag at the bottom of the ocean, and how happy he was when he finally found it again.  
\- Chuck getting all sad that he wasn’t paying attention when Lucifer tried to make a thing for him.  
\- Commentary from either Chuck or Lucifer on why Lucifer can’t create things from nothing, but he’s also the only one of his brothers that can actually destroy matter.  
              - Lucifer was made by Amara headcanon (That’s why he’s Chuck’s favourite)  
              - As opposites, Amara is capable of only destruction while Chuck is capable of only creation (but both can manipulate w/ever they want) headcanon  
              - Amara wanted to earn her brother’s love again, so she created Lucifer from herself (but it backfired and he became God’s favourite creation, because his sister made him).  
              - Technically Lucifer is a cousin of all the angels, not their brother.  
              - Sad Chuck Monologue about how Lucifer was the last thing he had of his Sister after he was forced to lock her away. And then he had to lock Lucifer away. Much sadness.

**And that’s about it. }**

**~ ~ ~**

**{This one is actually mentioned in the story. (Chapter 9, I think?) But it felt a little too much like fan-service, and it was really lazily written, so I cut it out. It also takes place during the one-week time-skip.}**

The Wyoming thing was easier than expected. Lucifer took one look at the deaths and told them it was a serial killer. Nothing weird or supernatural about it. Just another murderous human (or humans) with a flair for the dramatic.

But with nothing else to do, Sam and Dean took it on anyways. They might as well take advantage of having the devil on their side while they can, right?

(On closer inspection, Sam and Dean realised this case held strange similarities to a case they’d worked a while back, of which the perpetrator was a demon. They told Lucifer of this, and he insisted this wasn’t the work of a demon. It was too sloppy, and the scenes didn’t reek of Sulphur.)

Lucifer refused to do research, however. He claims that his job is to keep them from getting themselves killed, and that’s it. Solving this “Nancy Drew mystery” is all on them.

He did seem to enjoy sneaking around with them as they trespassed to check out the older crime scenes, though. Dean got a snort out of some of his passing remarks. Like when Sam was convinced he knew who the next target was, and Lucifer leaned over to whisper “I think this guy’s the _boring_ kind of chubby chaser” after staking out the library and watching some dude hit on the assistant librarian for the better part of five hours. Or when they were poking around an older crime scene, and he sniffed out a cell phone scrambler, holding up for them to see with a goofy “A cell phone scrambler? But Luci, those are illegal!” Or when they showed up to the next crime scene as FBI agents (Lucifer snapped up his own fake ID under the name ‘Lucifer Morningstar’, and somehow managed to get away with it), and Lucifer took one look at the body and said “looks like he made the fat lady sing”.

Dean _knows_ it’s not appropriate to laugh at a crime scene, but Lucifer just makes it so _hard_ , sometimes. Sam is just _completely_ done with both of them.

Despite Lucifer’s refusal to help them find the killer, they found him pretty quickly anyways. Purely on accident. Dean poked his nose in the wrong place, got himself snatched, and that was it for the killer. Lucifer snapped his neck before he could pull a single weapon out on the hunter, and then proceeded to chew Dean out for being so careless. Dean responded with a glib “I knew you’d come when I prayed, it’s no big deal”, and Lucifer fumed on his way out of the building.

Dean gave Sam a call and told him where they’re at, which also happened to be the location of the killer’s next victim. She was a single woman in her forties, and her house smelled like she owned at least ten cats. Dean couldn’t stop sneezing for the life of him, so he made his way out to the front yard, where Lucifer was.

Sam arrived to find the devil holding a tiny, black-and-white ball of fluff and sitting in the front yard’s tree, petting it.

Dean was sneezing uncontrollably off to the side, and as he approached, he could hear Lucifer call out a ‘God bless you!’ after each one.

It was going to be a long drive back.

**{I also have to apologise, because this scene was meant to be about the not-demon-serial-killer-that-was-summoning-a-demon from when Hallucifer was a thing, but I was lazy and didn’t want to go re-watch the episode, and so I didn’t really commit to it. If I’d been more motivated to, this might actually have made it into the fic. But probably not, as I would’ve needed a lot more scenes than these last three to fill the one-week gap in the story.}**

**~ ~ ~**

**{And that’s it for outtakes! I do, however, have some (I think) amusing bits of trivia for this story.}**

**The word ‘Lucifer’ showed up 594 times during the fanfiction.**

**‘Devil’ - 76 times**

**‘Satan’ - 15 times**

**‘Fallen Angel/Archangel’ - 12 times**

**‘Ex-angel/ex-archangel’ - 9 times**

**This collectively adds up to 706 times Lucifer was mentioned.**

**‘Sam’ - 211 times**

**‘Dean’ - 347 times**

**‘Bobby/Robert/Singer/old man’ - 185 times**

**‘Winchester’ - 32 times**

**The ‘main characters’ of supernatural were collectively only mentioned 775 times.**

**Lucifer *almost* outnumbers them, lol.**

****

****

**_fin._ **

**_(for real this time)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this! And special thanks to those who followed this story to its completion! I hope you liked it, and please tell me what you think in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think in the comments! I love talking to people about Angel Fam/Supernatural in general!
> 
> If you're a little shy/don't have an account, hit me up on my Skype: NerdaliciousMelizza !
> 
>  **EDIT 5/23/2017:** Be sure to check out the other stuff in this series! The lovely MonkeyGirl77 has written a few companion pieces to this story, including an alternate ending with even _more_ puns and other forms of hilarity, and an alternate apocalypse solved by Lucifer's one weakness: wing scratches.


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